Alone and Unafraid
by Ironsides
Summary: The next novel in the Ares Snow version of the Hunger Games Universe. Hatchet is Back. When a Humanitarian Crisis in Tripolitania sends her back to battle, will she be able to overcome her inexperienced, new commander and make it back to her family alive?
1. Chapter 1

"_I'M LATE!_" I shout as I fly down the steps toward the kitchen and simultaneously tuck my physical training t-shirt into my athletic shorts. "I really hate this new PT uniform," I mutter as I grab my running shoes on the rubber mat next to the door.

"And it hates you back," Clint says sarcastically as he fills a bowl with oatmeal from the stove. Aurora, still in her pajamas, licks her lips impatiently at the kitchen table as he pours a little bit of cinnamon and sugar over her breakfast and sets it down in front of her. She quickly reaches for her spoon, but Clint pulls the bowl away from her. "What do we say?" he says in a tone of voice much more maternal than anything I could ever muster.

"Thank you, Daddy," Aurora says with an adorable grin. I hold back a laugh as her messy blond curls bob up and down as he sets the bowl in front of her again and our five- year old shovels in her first big bite.

"I'm sorry to say I think you got your table manners from your mother," Clint says as he gives her a big kiss on the forehead. Aurora ignores him as she takes another spoonful of the hot cereal.

"Hey, a girl's gotta eat!" I say as I hurriedly tie the laces of my shoes and prepare to sprint out the door.

"You're not helping, Liv," Clint whispers with a smile as he goes back to the stove to ladle himself a bowl. "You want something to eat?"

"Can't!" I say excitedly as I finish throwing my hair into a tight bun behind my head. "I'm leading the men on a long run this morning. Besides, I told you… _I'm late!"_

"Calm down, calm down," Clint says coolly as he takes a seat next to Aurora. "I don't think they'll start without you."

"I'm the CSM, Honey," I say a little perturbed. "It looks bad when I'm not on time."

"I know, I know," he mutters taking a bite from his bowl. "You remember I was in the Defense Forces once too, right?" he says with another sarcastic grin. I chuckle and smile right back at him. "But then somebody had to stay home and raise this little hellion," he laughs as he reaches over and messes with Aurora's curls. She giggles and goes back to eating her oatmeal. I walk over, give him a quick kiss, and then whisper in his ear:

"The little hellion that you put in me," I say with a seductive tone in my voice.

"Can't wait till we can get started on the next one," he whispers back.

"_Not for a while…_" I say back as I turn to kiss Aurora goodbye.

"Bye bye, Sweetheart. Be good for Daddy today."

"Yes, Mommy," she says sweetly as I give her a peck on her pink forehead.

I immediately head for the door.

"I may be a little late tonight," I say absentmindedly. "The Battalion Commander and I are going out to check on a few company ranges today." My hand is on the doorknob when Clint calls after me.

"Forgetting something?" I pause as I try to think what he could mean. "That is, unless you want to spend the whole day in a sweaty physical training uniform."

"Dammit!" I shout as I whip back around. "I forgot to pack my uniform bag last night!"

"_Little ears!_" Clint shoots back motioning toward Aurora. I just roll my eyes.

"_She's Hatchet Hightower's daughter,"_ I think to myself. _"She's gonna hear a lot worse…" _

"I took a clean set of fatigues out of the wash last night and packed them in your gym bag along with your beret and boots. They're on the washing machine," Clint says with a smile.

"_You're amazing,"_ I say relieved as I run into the laundry room and grab my gear.

"I know," he mutters as I dash back past him towards the door. As I push out into the pre-dawn darkness of District 2, I hear my daughter giggle again.

"Mommy's funny when she's late for work," Aurora says in her little chipmunk voice.

"Yes…_she is_," my husband says smiling back at her.

"_I cannot believe how lucky I am to have them both,"_ I think as I disappear down the street.

It's a short three block jog from our house in the residential section of Fort Sturm to my battalion headquarters. The sun is just starting to poke its rays over the mountains as I pass the sign in front of the building that reads:

_1__st__ Battalion, 1__st__ Infantry Regiment (Hovercraft Assault)_

"_The Gunslingers"_

_United Districts of Panem Ground Defense Forces_

_Commander:_

_Lieutenant Colonel Halberd Bixby_

_Command Sergeant Major:_

_Olivia S. Hightower_

When I first enlisted eleven years ago, I could never have imagined that I would go so far, so fast. Most take twice as long to reach Battalion Command Sergeant Major. The Ministry of Defense claimed it was because of my record during the TEC War, but I had a feeling it had something to do with General Ares Snow dropping a few good words on my behalf before his retirement. It's something he's never admitted to even after years of questioning on my part.

I run past the color sergeant and a detail of six soldiers unfurling the UDP Mockingjay at the base of the empty flagpole in front of the main doors.

_"Damn, I'm later than I thought,"_ I think looking down at the communicuff on my wrist.

"Good morning, Sergeant Major," he says as I hurriedly rush inside.

"Morning, Sergeant Gee," I say without stopping. The whole battalion should be formed up by now and waiting for me. I run through the empty halls and out the back door. All five companies are standing in formation on the concrete pad behind the building. First Sergeant Galbiaz of the Headquarters Company stands in front of everyone holding my place.

"Good morning, Sergeant Major," he says as he sees me throw my bag down and run to the head of the formation.

"Morning, First Sergeant," I say trying to sound calm. "Take your company."

"Yes, Sergeant Major," he says walking over to his men. Once he leaves, I'm alone, standing in front of five hundred sets of eyes, all in matching physical training uniforms and waiting for the start of the week. The cool morning air kisses my skin as I look down at my communicuff one final time.

_"0629 hours, right on schedule." _I think as I snap myself to attention.

"BATTALION!" I shout at the top of my lungs. "ATTEN-TION!" The sound of five hundred heels clicking together is followed closely by a loud and thunderous,

"GUNSLINGERS!" as the entire battalion shouts out our motto in unison.

"_BOOM!"_ The sound of a cannon echoes across Fort Sturm followed by a bugle playing "Reveille." What was once the sound that signaled a death to all of Panem is now used by the Defense Forces to usher in every brand new day.

"PRESENT ARMS!" The entire battalion throws up their right arm to salute the flag as it is raised up the pole. We stand, still as statues, as the banner rises to its position of honor. As the music fades away, I call out, "ORDER ARMS, AT EASE!"

Everyone relaxes before I address the formation. "Good morning, Gunslingers!"

"GOOD MORNING, SERGEANT MAJOR!"

"Since it's the start of another wonderful week, I thought I would lead you all on a little run. How does that sound?"

A roar of approval echoes across the formation. "Good! I love motivation," I say with a grin. "I'm so motivated this morning that I want to go six miles!" The roar of approval quickly turns to a groan. "Alright then, if we're not motivated, then we'll go for seven!" Most are smart enough to stifle themselves, but a few groans remain. "Looks like we're going for eight then….BATTALION! ATTEN-TION!"

"GUNSLINGERS!"

"RIGHT FACE!" I command as everyone turns simultaneously. "FORWARD MARCH!" As the mass of humanity starts to move forward, I begin to call out a very old marching cadence that my first sergeant taught to me as a private. "Oh hail, oh hail, o' infantry…."

"OH HAIL, OH HAIL O' INFANTRY…" the entire formation echoes back to me.

"The Queen of Battle, follow me!"

"THE QUEEN OF BATTLE, FOLLOW ME!"

"DOUBLE TIME!" I scream pumping my fist in the air.

"DOUBLE TIME!" everyone shouts in unison, ready to get moving.

"MARCH!" I yell taking off into a run. The entire group follows as we sprint off into the early morning darkness that hides the giant smile on my face. Besides my family, nothing in this world makes me happier than to lead soldiers.


	2. Chapter 2

Later that morning, I sit at the desk in my office pouring over a pile of paperwork.

_"Evaluations, Unit Status Reports, Soldier Fitness Stats, my entire life is paperwork now… Maybe I shouldn't have accepted the promotion,"_ I think to myself bemusedly. Suddenly, there's a knock at the door.

"Who is it and what do you want?" I say without looking up from my papers.

"Excuse me, Sergeant Major," First Sergeant Galbiaz says nervously as if he doesn't want to disturb me.

"What is it, First Sergeant?" I ask.

"I have Private Sparx here. You said you wanted to see everyone who fell out of the run this morning."

"Right, right," I say absentmindedly. "Send him in." First Sergeant Galbiaz nods and steps back outside. I hear him coaching someone in the hall.

"Whatever you do, don't stare at her. She hates it when people stare at her, understand?"

"Yes, First Sergeant," a nervous voice replies. I smile a little bit but wipe it from my face as soon as I hear Sparx knocking.

"Come in, Sparx," I say in my firmest tone. A nervous boy with red hair and freckles quickly steps inside, stands in front of my desk, and snaps his hands behind his back. He looks to be about eighteen and fresh out of basic training. I lean back in my chair and throw my pen down on the desk.

"Private Sparx reporting as ordered, Sergeant Major," he says trying to keep his anxious voice from cracking. I just stare at him for a few silent moments trying to size him up.

Slowly, his eyes start to drift downward to something on my desk; the same thing that everyone sees the first time they come in my office. I had my nameplate specially made because the Defense Forces frown on nicknames, but I just didn't want to give mine up. Behind a simple plaque that reads "CSM Olivia S. Hightower" there is a glass case, lined with blood-red velvet. Inside, is a hickory-handled hatchet, the same one I carried on my belt loop for years, and the same one that ended the reign of a dictator.

I let him gawk at it for a few seconds before I jolt him back to reality with a harsh rebuke.

"You staring at me, Sparx?" His eyes immediately jump up to meet mine as he violently shakes his head.

"No, No, Sergeant Major!"

"Good…so you fell out of my little run this morning. What's the matter? The pace a little too fast for you? I'm surprised. You don't seem like a fat body." In reality, I feel sorry for the kid; I really do. I know in my head that it was not an easy run. I took the battalion through seven and half miles of some of the toughest hills on Fort Sturm, but I can't let it seem like I'm going too easy on him. I have to keep the pressure on this private so he'll keep working to improve himself.

"No excuses, Sergeant Major, I tried to keep up as best as I could, but after five miles, my body just couldn't take it anymore."

"Couldn't take it anymore?" I say trying to sound skeptical. "Your body can take a lot more than you think it can. Sounds like you just quit on me: another case of teenie-tiny heart syndrome. I see it all the time. I think you just don't want to be here with the best," I say shaking my head and crossing my arms in front of my chest.

"No, Sergeant Major. That's not it at all…" he says almost in a panic.

"Really?" I say cutting him off. "Are you new here, Sparx? I don't recognize you."

"I just got here last week, Sergeant Major."

"Where are you from?"

"District 5, Sergeant Major." I relax a little bit with him. I know it's time to ease up if I want to get my point across.

"They don't have a lot of mountains like these in District 5, do they?" I ask pointing out the window and cracking a small grin.

"No, Sergeant Major."

"Well, the altitude here takes a little getting used to, but that's not a reason to just sit on your backside. You got to run on your own and force your body to adjust, understand? I don't want to be having this conversation with you again."

"Yes, Sergeant Major!" he shouts out loud enough for the entire floor to hear him.

"Good, now get out of my office."

"Yes, Sergeant Major," he dashes for my door so fast that he doesn't see the Battalion Commander standing in the threshold and runs smack into him. "Excuse me, Sir!" Private Sparx chirps out as Lieutenant Colonel Bixby silently steps aside to let him pass.

When Sparx and First Sergeant Galbiaz disappear down the hall, Bixby, leans against my door and callously starts examining the nails on his right hand.

"You sure about that, kid?" he says picking a piece of dirt from under his thumbnail. "I don't want any dead weight in my battalion."

"In my experience, Sir," I say trying to hold back my annoyance, "very few Soldiers are ever dead weight. It's all about how well you train them."

"I guess," Bixby says dispassionately as he wipes his hand on his uniform jacket.

I didn't get a good first impression of Lieutenant Colonel Bixby when he took command two months ago, and unfortunately, my feelings for him have only gotten worse. He's extremely different from General Ares Snow, much more like the officers I grew up with…_the one's that create the bad stereotypes_: short-cropped hair, light skin, large, muscular, _and arrogant_.

Originally from District 1, he commissioned from the Academy eighteen years ago. By his own admission, it was because, "he couldn't do anything else but be in the military." He knows his craft well enough, but I get the distinct impression that if he was born fifty years ago, he would have been a Career in the Games: killing other innocents for profit and glory.

I decide to change the subject to something more delicate.

"You know, Sir, I didn't see you at PT formation this morning. You missed a good run with the men."

"Yeah," he says casually strutting over and taking a seat in the chair across from my desk. "Decided I wasn't really in the mood for a run this morning so I hit the gym. Still a little sore," he says rubbing his biceps under his shirt.

_"Right…"_ I think to myself. "Well, I hope you're not too sore to put your body armor on. Remember, you said we'd go out together to check out Alpha Company's shooting range this afternoon."

"Actually, Sergeant Major, I'm really backed up on my paperwork right now. Don't want to stay too late tonight so I'm just going stay back here and let you handle that…_unless you need me, of course."_ It is everything in my power to keep from rolling my eyes at him.

"Roger Sir…" I say biting my tongue. "I think I can handle it just fine."

"Too easy…" he says trailing off. It looks like he has something else he's forgetting to tell me.

"Anything else, Sir?" I ask trying to ease him out of my office.

"Oh right, the whole reason I came to talk to you. Tomorrow at 1400, General Hallonger wants every battalion command team and above at the Headquarters building. He's bringing a guest speaker to address everyone."

"What about?" I ask curiously.

"It's an old expert on geo-political situations from the Ministry of Defense. Hallonger heard that he was attending a meeting at the Ministry of Defense and asked him to stop by Sturm on his way home. I guess the General wants to make sure we have all the latest information on happenings around the globe. You never know where we could be called next. We are Panem's Rapid Reaction Force after all." I _really_ hate it when Bixby talks down to me like I'm an idiot.

"So, who is this expert, Sir? Brass from the Central Intelligence in District 13?"

"Retired Brass, actually," Bixby says callously. "I believe he's a good acquaintance of yours…_General Snow_."

_"Ares is coming here, tomorrow!"_ I think keeping my excitement on the inside. _"I haven't seen him or Lizzy since we took leave to District 4 six months ago. Lizzy was still trying to handle moving in to their cottage while balancing a newborn on her hip. God, I don't know how she does it." _I try to stay focused. "Yes, Sir, the General and I served together for a long a time."

"Good, good," Bixby says. "Maybe you can introduce us. I think he still has some pull with the Human Resources guys at the Ministry."

_"I'll be sure to tell him all about you, Sir,"_ I deviously think to myself. He stands up and starts to walk for my door.

"You know," Bixby says turning back around.

_"Great…"_

I was a Major on Colonel Tavington's staff during the TEC invasion. Looking at General Snow, we always thought he was a really strange character…kinda like he never really fit the mold of what a good officer should be. You were with him the whole war. Is he really as nuts as we all thought he was?"

I pause to choose my next words carefully. I feel my temper rising and I want to jump to my feet and tell him what I really think of him and his jacked up view of "what a good officer should be." However, I just lean back in my chair once more, look Bixby straight in the face, and say in a deep, calm voice:

"Sir, General Snow is one of the finest individuals that I've ever had the pleasure of serving with."

"Hmmm," Bixby says shrugging his shoulders and looking down at my desk. His eyes catch the shimmer on the sharp edge of the hatchet. No doubt, he knows the story behind it, but has never worked up the nerve to ask me about it before. "You really use that thing in combat?" he says skeptically. I just lean forward and keep my gaze right on his.

"All the time…"


	3. Chapter 3

That afternoon, my driver pulls the truck up to the firing range. It is located in a large, open, grassy field leading up to the side of a snow-capped mountain on the outskirts of Fort Sturm. As I open the passenger door and step down, I remark to myself how picturesque this place would be if weren't for the constant sound of gunfire.

When I hit the ground, I put on my dark protective sunglasses and make the necessary adjustments to my helmet and body armor. The equipment is hot, heavy, and uncomfortable. I absolutely hate wearing this stuff, but it's required safety gear for the privates so I know better than to not be caught without it. Whatever you make subordinates do, you do yourself: that's what expected from a real leader.

Alpha company has already begun their training for the day. Target frames with human-shaped plastic silhouettes are set up twenty-five meters from the firing line. About thirty soldiers are lying in the prone position behind sandbags trying to place accurate, tight groupings of shots into the targets to confirm that their rifles are properly zeroed to their sights while a group of sergeants supervises.

"Need anything else, Sergeant Major?" my driver, Private Weaver, asks.

"No, you're good, Weaves," I say reaching into my pocket for my little leather pouch. I point over to an open spot of ground a few dozen yards away. "Just pull the truck around over there and stand-by."

"Roger," she says with quick nod of her head and then she's off.

As I walk over to Alpha Company's leadership, I open my pouch, take a big pinch of tobacco leaves between my thumb and index finger, and mindlessly put them in my right cheek. It's a filthy habit that I managed to kick during my pregnancy but have picked up again since becoming a Sergeant Major. When Lieutenant Colonel Bixby first saw me do it, he turned a little green and remarked how "un-lady like" it was…_much to my annoyance._ I failed to mention how the stresses of working for him were one of the main contributing factors. After that day, I made a practice of spitting in front of him more often.

At the firing line, Alpha's first sergeant and company commander walk over to greet me. They both give me the standard speech about how their training is proceeding. First Sergeant Lamplighter is an enlisted soldier who I control, but Captain Greenly is an officer that technically outranks me. However, he knows that I have the ear of the Battalion Commander so he gives me the proper respect. Little does he know that I like him a lot more than his boss.

"Will the Battalion Commander be joining us today?" he asks hoping to shine a little for his upcoming evaluation report (I don't really blame him for this, even good officers have to suck up a little at his rank to advance).

"Afraid not, Sir," I say a little dejectedly. "Something came up…"

"Roger that, Sergeant Major," Captain Greenly replies shaking his head. I know he understands that the "something" means that Bixby wasn't in the mood to get hot and sweat in the sun.

Halfway through the standard training brief that I've heard a million times before, something in the corner of my eye catches my attention.

"What do we have here?" I mutter quizzically as I notice a group of sergeants huddled around a private at the end of the firing line. All of them are pointing and laughing, making the private very upset. First Sergeant Lamplighter looks over and tries to explain.

"Oh, that's Private Finch, Sergeant Major. He has a severe case of CHS today. Don't worry, his NCOs are taking care of it."

"_Really?_" I say raising my eyebrows behind my sunglasses (CHS stands for Can't Hit Sh.. for you non-military types). "I think I'll check this out for myself." I start to walk down the firing line towards them. First Sergeant Lamplighter and Captain Greenly try to follow, but I wave them away. I want to handle this alone.

When I approach the group, the Sergeant First Class in charge sees me and calls

"_At Ease!_" the rest of the group snaps their hands behind their back. Finch tries to climb to his feet.

"Stay the hell down there, Finch," I say firmly. He drops back down to the ground. I see one of the other sergeants has a pair of binoculars which I motion for. He hands them to me and I take a closer look at Finch's target. The few bullet holes in the target are spread out over the entire torso. "Having some trouble there, Private?" I ask not taking the binoculars down from my face.

"It's the rifle, Sergeant Major," he says exasperatingly. "I think it's messed up."

"Sergeant Major, He's just…" the Sergeant First Class in charge starts to say before I cut him off.

"I _believe_ I was talking to Private Finch, Sergeant."

"Yes, Sergeant Major," he says sheepishly as I pass the binoculars back to his partner.

"Let me see that rifle, Finch." He nervously hands me his weapon. I give it a once over, make sure the sights are firmly attached and not loose, and make sure the buttstock is solidly locked in place. Then, without warning, I chamber a round, raise the rifle to my cheek, and fire three shots in quick succession.

"Rifle seems fine to me, Private," I say matter of factly as I hand the weapon back to him. The sergeant with the binoculars raises them to his eyes and sees three small holes almost touching each other in the head of the silhouette. The other NCOs are speechless.

That's when I get down on my knees next to Private Finch and start to calmly coach him.

"Alright, Finch, take a deep breath. It's all about the technique. First, put the weapon firmly into your shoulder." He silently follows every one of my commands. "Good, now rest your non-firing hand on the sand bags and get a good, solid platform….that's it. That's good right there. Now, look through the sights and get your point of aim. Don't move the sights from that point and firing at it every single time. Do you have your point of aim?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major," he says not moving from behind his weapon.

"Alright," I say not taking my eyes off of him. "Now, pay attention to your breathing. Don't hold your breath, ok. Breathe in, then breathe out in a pattern. Halfway through your exhale, fire off your shot. Squeeze the trigger smoothly, don't jerk it or pull it. Got it?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major," Finch says with a new calm in his voice.

"Ok, fire when ready." He pauses for a few seconds, then suddenly fires a bullet toward the target. "Good, again." Another short pause, then another shot. "One more time." A final pause, then a gunshot.

I hold out my right hand and the sergeant with the binoculars immediately hands them to me. I take a look and see three holes almost as tightly grouped as mine right in the center of the target.

"Would you look at that, Finch?" I say with a grin. "The rifle magically fixed itself."

"Yes, Sergeant Major," he says with a chuckle as I give him a firm pat on the shoulder. I slowly pull myself to my feet before motioning to the Sergeant First Class with my right index finger.

"Sergeant, a word if you please," I say harshly. He slowly follows me to just outside of earshot of everyone else. I stare him directly in the face and slowly cross my arms. I must cut an interesting figure in front of him. He's easily a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than I am, but he still cowers like a puppy when he sees my expression. "Were you ever a private, Sergeant?"

"Of course, Sergeant Major…"

"Were you an expert shot when you came into the Defense Forces?"

"No, I'd never fired a gun before…"

"That means you probably had a sergeant who taught you how to shoot?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major."

"So, why the hell didn't that soldier receive the proper training before he came out to this range and started wasting the rounds paid for by the hard-working tax-payers of Panem?"

"Sergeant Major, I thought…" the sergeant first class says nervously.

"You thought?" I say cutting him off sharply. "You thought what? That he would just know what to do?"

"No, Sergeant Major…" he says getting even more nervous now. Without warning, I reach up and grab the shoulder strap of his body armor. I pull him down to my level, just an inch from my sunglasses.

"Train these men…_properly_, Sergeant. You never know if Private Finch will one day have to fire the shot that saves your life in combat. _Do I make myself clear?_"

"Yes, Sergeant Major!" I spit a large puddle of tobacco juice right next to his boot. He jumps backward and I let him go.

"_Good,_" I say before turning around back towards Weaver and the truck.

The sun is long gone when I finally get back home. I open the kitchen door, step inside, and pull off my beret. I release my hair from the tight bun that's been causing me a headache for the past hour and let it down so it falls in a mess down past my shoulders. The smell of dinner still lingers in the kitchen as I throw my bag in the corner. The sound of the television drifts in from the living room. I strip down to my black t-shirt and throw my uniform jacket across the back of one of the chairs. I'm about to go join Clint on the couch when I hear him call, "Boots!" in a loud and annoyed voice. "I just cleaned the floors today and I won't have you tracking half of Fort Sturm all over the house!"

_"Dammit,_" I mutter as I take a seat and strip down to my bare feet as well. Finally, I walk into the living room and plop down on the couch next to my husband. I cuddle close to him and rest my head on his warm shoulder. He turns his head and plants a big kiss on the top of my head that causes me to squeak a little bit with contentment.

The television announcer is talking through the steps of how to reassemble the exhaust manifold of an antique truck.

"How can you watch this?" I ask with a yawn.

"Once a mechanic, always a mechanic, Babe," he says without missing a beat. "How was your day?"

"Long, and nerve-racking. Had to lay into a couple of folks who need to pick up their game."

"The job of a good Sergeant Major…" he says, not taking his eyes off the screen. The announcer has moved on to how the drop the engine back into the chassis. "One of those folks wouldn't happen to be your boss would it?" Clint is no stranger to hearing me complain about Lieutenant Colonel Bixby.

"Unfortunately, no," I say wrapping my arms around Clint's waist. He responds by putting his arm around my neck which causes me to pull even closer to him. "The tongue biting on my part continues."

"We were spoiled by our last boss, Liv," he says resting his head against mine.

"We were indeed…" I respond feeling increasingly safe and secure. After a quiet pause, I change the subject. "How was your day? Did Rori behave herself?"

"Oh she was a little angel," Clint says before letting out a big sigh. "Until she tried to play ball with a couple of the neighborhood boys…"

"What happened?" I ask concerned.

"Well, they wouldn't let her play because she was a girl. So, our five-year old daughter grabbed the ball away from the biggest boy who was almost seven and threw it as hard as she could into his face. His nose swelled up to twice its size and he ran home crying to his mother. Aurora was very confused when I put her in time out." A huge smile creeps across my face.

"That's my girl," I say with satisfaction as I pull close to Clint again.

"I thought you'd approve," he says annoyed, "but if it's alright with you, I'd prefer not to raise the child that all the other parents on the block are afraid to let their kids play with."

"She'll be fine," I say, "She's just got a lot of Mason in her."

"That she does," Clint replies.

"The hellion already in bed?"

"Yeah, I tucked her in about an hour ago." I hate missing saying goodnight to Aurora, but unfortunately my job necessitates it more than I'd like to admit. Another pause. "You want some dinner?" he asks. "I'm keeping it warm in the oven."

"Later," I say quietly. "Actually, speaking of dinner…"

"Yes?" Clint says nervously.

"How would you feel about having a few people over tomorrow night?" Clint bolts up.

"Olivia, we've talked about this! If you're gonna have people come over I need to know a few days ahead of time." I've gotten in trouble more than once for having guests from work come over without warning.

"I know, I know," I say trying to explain, "but would you make an exception for…"

"General Snow, Lizzy, and the kids?" Clint says interrupting me. A big smile creeps across his face.

_"How did you know?"_ I say playfully slapping him on the shoulder.

"Lizzy called me this morning. The President called General Snow to the Capitol for a meeting at the Ministry of Defense and they're taking the train here tonight on their way back east. The whole Snow clan is going to have dinner with us tomorrow night. All the arrangements have already been made."

"I have the most amazing husband ever," I say before giving him a kiss.

"I know you do," he replies. Both of us laugh.

After a quick bite to eat, I tiptoe upstairs to Aurora's room. I open the door as quietly as I can and sneak inside. She's curled up under her covers, sound asleep. In her arms, she's cradling a stuffed white rabbit that General Snow and Lizzy (or Uncle Ares and Aunt Lizzy as Aurora calls them) sent her for her third birthday. She immediately named it, "Ears" and refuses to sleep without it.

I stare down at my sleeping daughter with such a sense of wonderment. I'm just amazed that someone as rough and damaged as me could make something so sweet and incredible. It wasn't until I had her that I finally understood why my mother was so protective of me. I slowly reach down to her pillow and run my fingers through her golden curls as gently as I can without waking her. She briefly stirs and I quickly pull back, but she just sighs and silently rolls back over.

Softly, I sit down next to her bed and rest my head next to hers. The sound of her tiny breaths in my ear sets all my other cares and concerns at ease. For a few minutes, I just lay next to her in the darkness. Finally, I climb to my feet, place a gentle kiss on her tiny, tired forehead, and whisper into her ear,

_"I love you, Baby. It's ok to be a Mason. You come from a long line of survivors and someone's got to show the rest of the world how to fight."_

Then, without another word, I turn and walk back downstairs, closing the door behind me.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Bixby and I sit with the rest of the commanders and sergeant majors on Fort Sturm in the headquarters auditorium. He talks to me about something, but I really don't pay him any attention. Instead, I just occasionally smile and nod my head. Not surprisingly, he's completely fooled into thinking I'm enthralled by his generic war stories.

Finally, General Hallonger appears on the stage and steps up to a podium.

"It is very rare," he begins speaking into the microphone, "when I get the opportunity to introduce a genuine hero…" He then starts to list General Snow's list of accomplishments. Some, I remember very clearly. Others, I remember a little differently than the official narrative we told everyone else. I can't help but crack a grin. Finally, Hallonger motions offstage, and a figure appears to loud and thunderous applause. The familiar form of a man dressed in a dark business suit and tie limps toward the podium. Though the clothes he wears are different from what I remember, one thing remains the same: the gold Mockingjay worn with pride on his lapel.

He walks with a cane, his posture tragically unimproved from the last time I saw him six months ago, but then again, I know his disabilities from that night in "The Heart" are permanent. General Hallonger attempts to help him, but all efforts on that front are futile. Snow just waves him away and keeps liming forward on his own.

_"Same old Ares,"_ I think to myself.

General Snow takes his place at the podium, his one remaining eye twinkling charismatically under the bright lights.

"I hate to disagree with General Hallonger," he begins, "but I am definitely not a hero. However, I had the great pleasure of serving with many heroes over the course of my career. One of whom, I owe my life too, and I'm thrilled to say she's here in the room with us…"

The entire auditorium shifts in their chairs and stares right at me. I instantly sink down in my seat and feel my face blush bright red.

_"Damn you, Sir!" _I think to myself_. "You did that purpose…"_ He knows very well that, unlike my mother, I hate it when someone calls attention to me. I look up to the stage, and sure enough, I can see his trademark grin creep across his face.

Finally, General Snow begins his lecture on world affairs. He's very detailed, but still extremely interesting. He holds the attention of the entire room as he lists the possible threats to our national security one by one….however, I'm sure I'm the only one in the place that notices something. The way he subtly changes his tone of voice while discussing one region in particular causes me particular concern. When you face death with someone as many times as we have together, you begin to pick up on when they're truly afraid of something. _This is one of those times…_

When the lesson is over, General Snow comes down from the stage and stands with General Hallonger as we all form a line to introduce ourselves. One by one, each command team shakes hands with him and exchanges a few pleasantries. Finally, it's my and Bixby's turn. I go first.

"I'm assuming you already know Sergeant Major Hightower," General Hallonger says sarcastically.

"Hello, Sir," I say quietly, remaining firm and stoic. I don't want to call any more attention to myself than already has been. However, hand it to General Snow, he doesn't let it end at that. He immediately lunges forward and wraps both his arms around me.

"God, it's good to see you, Hatch," he says lovingly. I know everyone, including General Hallonger, is staring at us with dropped jaws, but I don't care. Old feelings come rushing back and I throw my arms around him as well.

"You too, Sir," I say giving him a squeeze. The Mockingjay team was much more than just a collection of soldiers…_we're family_.

After a few seconds we let go. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a very perturbed Bixby gritting his teeth next to me.

"Of course," I say snapping back to my senses. "General Snow, let me introduce Lieutenant Colonel Halberd Bixby, my battalion commander."

"It's a pleasure, General," Bixby says practically shoving me out of the way to shake General Snow's hand. I'm disgusted even more knowing Bixby's true feelings for him. This is just a stunt for him to make an impression.

"Likewise," General Snow says skeptically. Bixby obviously wants to start a conversation, but I have no desire to subject someone I care about to his ramblings.

"Well, we won't keep you, Sir," I say pretending to look at the line behind us. "But, can't wait to see you tonight at 1900."

"We'll be there," he says flashing one last smile in my direction.

"See him tonight at 1900?" Bixby asks angrily as we walk away.

"Yes, Sir," I say satisfied. "Dinner with old friends…" I can instantly tell he's furious that I didn't invite him…_and I couldn't be happier about it._

That night and right on time, there's a knock on the front door. Clint and I throw it open and immediately wrap our arms around General Snow and Lizzy who holds baby Katniss in her arms.

"OCTI!" Aurora shouts from behind us and charges forward to latch onto Octavian. He winces at first as he pretends not to like it, but soon it's obvious he's happy to see her too.

"You better watch out," Lizzy says when she sees the two of them together again. "He's turning into quite the ladies' man for a boy of eight years old."

"I think Octavian is the one who needs to watch out," Clint says ruffling Aurora's hair. "He doesn't know what he's getting into dealing with that one."

While Octavian and Aurora play in the living room, the rest of us take our seats around the dining room table. We laugh and reminisce over food and wine for over what must be hours, but it only seems like minutes. I truly am amazed as I watch Lizzy enjoy her entire meal while simultaneously holding a sleeping Katniss in her arms.

"Liz," I say pouring myself another glass of wine, "you truly are an incredible mother. After Aurora was born, Clint was afraid to let me hold her too long because he thought I would drop her."

"Or accidently leave her in the swing in the backyard," Clint interjects. I playfully smack him on the back of the head.

"I only did that once!" I reply before everyone laughs. Soon the conversation turns to other old friends.

"So, you said you saw Doc when you were in the Capitol, Sir?"

"Liv," General Snow says rolling his eyes. "I've been retired a long time now. Please, for the last time, call me _Ares_."

"Sorry," Clint says grabbing another buttered roll and taking a big bite, "no matter how long you're retired, you'll always be 'Sir' to us…_Sir_." He says with a giant grin. Lizzy and I laugh.

"Yes, we did," General Snow says accepting defeat on that matter.

"We had a great lunch with him and Amelia yesterday," Lizzy says.

"How are they doing?" I ask taking another big sip of wine. "I don't think we've talked to them since the wedding last year." Clint nods in agreement.

"They're doing great," General Snow continues. _Doctor_ Goldflower is starting his surgical residency at Capitol General Hospital next week."

"I still can't believe Doc is a real doctor now," Clint says bemused.

"How about Major Goldflower?" I ask.

"Actually, as of the first of last month, it's _Lieutenant Colonel_ Amelia Goldflower now. She's doing fantastic. She now heads the European Affairs Section at the Ministry of Defense. She sat in on the meeting I had yesterday with President Reefs. It was wonderful, almost like old times again."

"Well, if she ever considers a branch transfer to combat arms, tell her she's more than welcome to come and take command of 1-1 Infantry," I say taking a sip of wine.

"Is that Bixby character really that bad?" General Snow asks somewhat doubtfully.

"Worse," I reply followed by_ another_ large sip of wine. "Alright, I don't want to talk about that piece of sh…"

"How much wine have you had, Babe?" Clint asks jokingly.

"Not enough," I say as we all laugh again.

"Have you heard from Tiller lately?" General Snow asks.

"Yes I have," I say cheerfully. His instructor time in District 1 is over and he's now a Flight Sergeant with a hovercraft squadron back in District 6."

"Wondeful!" General Snow says.

"But I don't know for how long…" I reply.

"What?"

"Well," Clint says interjecting himself. "He apparently has met a girl named 'Yollanda' and he's seriously considering getting out of the Defense Forces to settle down with her."

"That's great," Lizzy says starting to rock an increasingly restless Katniss.

"Absolutely," I say, "but soon I'm going to be the only Mockingjay left in uniform," I say with a grin.

A lull in the conversation follows and I determine it's the right time to ask what's been on my mind all afternoon.

"So, Sir," I say as I slowly pour myself another glass of wine, "what's the deal with Africa?" General Snow's eyebrows immediately shoot up and I know my hunch was right.

"What do you mean, Hatch?" he asks somewhat evasively.

"C'mon, Sir," you and I both know the President didn't ask a retired cripple to travel three-quarters of the way across Panem to talk about the fashions those blue-haired freaks are wearing this season in the Capitol…" By the look in his eyes, I know he realizes it's pointless to hide it anymore.

"How did you know, Liv?" he asks.

"Do you remember the raid we pulled on that TEC radar center right after the failed missile attack and Seamus couldn't promise us air cover because it was too risky for his hovercraft?"

"How could I forget?" General Snow says with a smile. If Ratch hadn't come up with that radio jamming device at the last minute we would've been sitting ducks out there…"

"You're welcome," Clint says smugly as he raises his glass in the air. All of us laugh again.

"Well," I continue, "I heard the nerves in your voice during that mission brief and I heard it again today when you were talking about Africa…"

"_Clever girl…_" General Snow says as I look right back at him. "You got me, Olivia. It's Tripolitania along the Mediterranean Coast. There's a famine in the Sahara right now that makes the worst of the our Dark Days look like a vacation. The tribes in the desert have stolen all they can from each other and a few have banded together and started attacking civilian shipping leaving the Balkans and Italia. The Europeans tried to appease them with food aid, but that just made them even more voracious. The pirate tribes have intercepted all the humanitarian cargo while the others that have not resorted to piracy are slowly starving to death. Last week, the General Secretary of the Independent States of Europe officially asked President Reefs for UDP troops, both to help ensure the delivery of aid to the non-hostile tribes and assist in possible military action against the pirates."

"Did he say 'yes?" Clint asks nervously. He knows that 1-1 Infantry would be near the top of the list of units to deploy.

"He's still weighing all the options."

"Unbelievable," I say staring down at my empty plate.

"Actually," General Snow says sounding a little cheerier. "That's not the only thing I was asked to advise on."

"What else did they need your opinion for?" I ask still thinking about Africa.

"_You_," he replies with another one of his grins.

"What!" I shout. At that outburst, Katniss starts crying and fidgeting in Lizzy's arms.

"Aw, come on, Kitty-Kat," Lizzy says trying to calm her down. "She's hungry," Lizzy finally says.

"You can feed her in the bedroom," I say starting to push back from the table.

"I know the way," Lizzy says with a big smile. "Don't put too much strain on the poor girl, Ares," she says disappearing around the corner. "Let her make up her own mind…"

"Why the hell would the Ministry of Defense need an opinion on me?" I ask nervously.

"Your name is on the top of a very short list, Hatch," General Snow says.

"For what? Forced Retirement?" I ask with a chuckle before taking another drink of wine.

"SMDF," General Snow says calmly.

"SERGEANT MAJOR OF THE DEFENSE FORCES!" I scream, spitting red wine all over the opposite wall.

"You're cleaning that up," Clint says pointing both to me and the stain on the wallpaper. He and General Snow both burst out laughing, but I am still in shock. The Sergeant Major of the Defense Forces is the senior enlisted person in all of the United Districts of Panem Defense Forces and primary advisor to the Chief of Staff. Quite Simply, it is the highest position I could ever achieve without dropping an Officer Candidate School packet and waiting another three decades.

"Very appropriate, for the last of the Mockingjay Team in uniform, don't you think?" General Snow says with another grin.


	5. Chapter 5

"I definitely think so!" Clint says ecstatically.

"No, no, no, no, no," I say while wiping my face with a napkin. _"Absolutely not!"_

"Why not?" General Snow asks. "You're combat record is stellar, you're a natural leader, and you already have experience working directly for a Chief of Staff."

"Exactly!" I yell. "I've already worked for the only Chief of Staff of the Defense Forces I ever want to work for, and he's sitting right there," I say pointing directly at General Snow.

"C'mon, Liv," Clint says to me, "As SMDF, you actually have a direct hand in making policy for the whole Defense Forces."

"I don't want to make policy for the whole Defense Forces!" I say getting a little angry. "I'm already too removed from the soldiers as it is. If I became SMDF, the only time I would ever see them was when they marched passed me in a parade!"

"That's not true and you know it," General Snow says, "You can be involved with the soldiers as much as you want."

"You mean, as much as I have time for, _which will be none_."

"At least consider it, Hatch. _For me_."

"Fine, Sir," I finally concede. "I'll consider it_, but only because it's you_."

The night winds down and it's finally time to say goodbye. It practically took a crowbar to pry Aurora away from Octavian, but soon we're giving our final embraces till we meet again.

"Are you sure you can't stay for another day or two?" I say as I wrap my arms around Lizzy.

"Afraid not," she says sadly.

"The Mellarks are expecting us," General Snow says. "We're going to spend a few days with them in District 12 on our way back to District 4."

"Well, safe travels and you're always welcome in our home," Clint says as he hugs Lizzy as well.

"Thank you, Hatch," General Snow says.

"No, thank you, Sir," I say as we wrap our arms around each other a final time.

"Good luck, Liv," he whispers in my ear, "with whatever happens."

After they leave, we get a very tired and grumpy Aurora to bed. She keeps asking when the next time she can see Octavian again from the time I help her into her pajamas all the way until Clint and I tuck her in.

Finally, Clint and I climb into our bed together. He lies down next to me and pulls me close to his warmth. It helps to calm my spinning head.

"I _did_ have too much drink tonight," I admit a little bashfully.

"It definitely loosened things up…until you spit everywhere." Even though his face is behind me, I know Clint is grinning.

"Cut me some slack, it was big news," I say.

"I know," Clint says quietly. "By the way, you're an idiot if you pass up SMDF."

"_You know_," I say firmly, "I can snap your neck with my bare hands if you annoy me too much."

"Yes I do, and I find it a bit of a turn on. Does that make me weird?" We both laugh together. "But seriously, you could do amazing things with that authority."

"I can do amazing things with the authority I have now."

"True, but right now you're still limited by incompetent commanders like Bixby. As SMDF, you could tell them all to go to hell."

"Not the Chief of Staff. He'd still be my boss."

"No, you could still tell him to go to hell. What is he going to do? Fire you? You don't want the job anyway, remember?"

The next morning, I'm in no condition to do any sort of physical activity with the battalion, so I leave it to the First Sergeants and head to the gym. After a brief warm-up, I head over to the free weights. I pick up two dumb bells, have a seat on a bench, and start some bicep curls. Just when I think I'll have a nice quiet workout, I hear a voice from behind me.

"Enjoy yourself last night, Hightower?" I slowly turn around to see Bixby, covered in sweat and holding the ends of a towel that's around his neck.

"It was an enjoyable evening…" I say trying to conceal my slight case of nausea compounded by a throbbing in my temples.

"Certainly looks that way," he says strolling over to the weight rack. "Decide the gym was your best bet this morning?"

"Yes, Sir!" I say in a chipper simper. "Sometimes, you just feel like pumping iron!" I'm sure that my sarcasm is abundantly clear as I finish a set of fifteen repetitions, but soon it's clear he doesn't get it.

"That's the spirit!" he says picking up two dumbbells three times heavier than the one's I'm using and starts banging out bicep curls with an exaggerated grunt as he heaves the weights upwards. He knocks out twice as many as I did and then triumphantly drops the weights to the ground with a tremendous thud. I feel embarrassed for the both of us as other people around start staring. "What do you think of that, Sergeant Major," he says in a tone that reeks of hollow machismo.

_"Congratulations, Sir,"_ I think as I roll my eyes in my mind, _"You're stronger than a 5 foot, 6 inch, 125 pound woman…do you want a medal?"_

"Impressive, right?"

"Definitely, Sir," I say placing my weights back in the rack and walking over to the pull-up bar. _"Maybe, he'll get the hint and leave me alone,"_ I silently pray as I jump up to the bar and lift my chin over the top ten times. No such luck, however, because as soon as I drop to the ground, there's Bixby right next to me.

"Good exercise, Sergeant Major," he says jumping onto the bar and looking back at me over his shoulder. "Great for the biceps, back, and lats!" he quips as he lifts his giant frame upwards. He does fifteen just to show up my ten before he drops down. "Whew," he says as he wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. "So, what's next?" he asks in a tone that makes me think he's almost challenging me.

_"You want a challenge, Sir? Alright, I'll give you a challenge." _I walk over to the center of the weight room so everybody can see us. Bixby's actions have drawn a lot of attention. "Sir, next I think we should work on our flexibility." I suddenly let my feet slip apart and drop down to the floor in a full split. Bixby's jaw almost drops as I look up to him with wide and innocent eyes. "Well, Sir, It's your turn.' I say slightly cocking my head to the side.

"Flexibility is…well…." he stammers as he tries to find the right words. "It's not one of my fitness goals right now! I'm gonna hit the showers." He storms out of the weight room as I push myself back to my feet. When I'm sure he's out of earshot, I burst out laughing.

My sense of smug satisfaction gets me through the rest of the day without any problems. I actually get home at a decent hour, remember to take my boots off at the door, and call out to Clint with a loud and happy, "I'M HOME!"

At first, I'm met with only silence.

"Clint?" I ask softly as I tiptoe toward the living room.

"I'm in here," he finally responds. The television is on, but it's not the usual announcer talking about tire pressure and fuel injectors. Instead, it's a single voice speaking in a somber monotone. I look to the couch to see Clint, sitting as rigid as a statue, completely glued to the screen.

"Where's Aurora?" I ask nervously.

"Playing in her room…_I didn't want her to see this…"_ he says trailing off.

"What are you watching?" I ask as I cautiously sit down beside him and look.

"Hearing the Sir talk about Africa last night made me think I should probably start watching the news…._I wish I hadn't_."

I gaze at the pictures of windswept, barren sand dunes when suddenly a girl's face, barely older than Aurora's, appears on the screen. It is gaunt, frail, and almost lifeless: dark skin stretched over bone. She stares at the camera lens completely numb to the presence of the reporters.

_"The situation here in Tripolitania grows more desperate by the day_," the announcer says continuing his report. _"Bedouin tribes that have co-existed peacefully for centuries have turned on each other as drought and punishing heat have caused water sources to turn to dust and famine to grip the land. _

_ Perhaps, inevitably, large amounts of weapons left over from the TEC conflict have found their way into the hands of many, and bloodshed has become an everyday reality." _

The screen cuts to a picture of men piled in the back of an ancient looking truck. All are dressed in tattered military fatigues and their faces are obscured by native headscarves. Each of them has either a machine gun or an assault rifle in front of them. Some, even have shoulder launched rocket propelled grenades strapped to their backs. They chant in a language I can't understand in an angry, hostile rhythm.

_"Both UDP and European diplomatic agencies have pledged help, but the firepower now in the hands of a few, has resulted in the misery of many. Food is intercepted and seized by the powerful militias before it reaches the hands of the hungry."_ The screen cuts again to a scene of women and children desperately fighting over a small bag of corn. _"It is not because these fighters are starving, it is because food here is political power, and these fanatic militias dole it out only to their supporters."_

"My God," I say clutching my hands in front of my face. "It's exactly like how it used to be here…"

"Except a thousand times worse," Clint says without looking away from the scenes of devastation. "At least the people of Panem had hope for something better…these people don't even have that."

_"Sources close to PNN in the UDP Ministry of Defense say that all attempts at a diplomatic solution to the crisis have failed. _

_ When we asked President Reefs' office for comment on whether a military solution has been considered, the President's Press Secretary simply replied, 'No options have been taken off the table."_

"That usually means yes…" I mutter under my breath.

_"One thing's for certain though,"_ the announcer says completing his news story, _"Whatever solution there is for this disaster…these people are running out of time. From Tripolitania, this is Grigori Tesla reporting for Panem News Network."_

Clint slowly reaches for the remote and turns off the television. We sit for a few moments in total silence, before something inside finally forces me to fly off the couch and run upstairs. I grab Aurora and take her straight to the kitchen.

I insist that we eat dinner as a family tonight. On the surface, it appears that all horrible images we've just seen are forgotten. The sounds of laughing and joking fill our house and I smile from ear to ear. However, on the inside I'm being torn to pieces.

Every time I see Aurora take a bite of her food, my mind flashes back to the image of the starving girl on the news broadcast.

_"How far we've come,"_ I think as my thoughts drift back to the stories my mother told me about growing up in District 7 under the old regime. She was sawing lumber by the time she was eight, but it was never enough. The Capitol would take such a large share, there was never enough left to trade for food. As my uncles would become old enough, they would take their tesserae, but it still couldn't feed four growing children. During the cold, brutal winter months, my grandmother would have to bake sawdust into their bread just to stretch out their supplies until spring would bring the woods back to life enough to forage. Even the threat of death from both the peacekeepers on our side and the feral cannibals on the other wasn't enough to keep them from constantly crossing the border into the Canada in hopes of finding anything to eat.

As the youngest, my mother would receive whatever they could spare, but by the time she was twelve, she still had to draw more tesserae to survive. Eventually, it won her a place in the Hunger Games and the rest is history…But now, just two generations later, I can literally give more food to my child than she could ever eat without any kind of fear or hardship.

When it's finally time to tuck Aurora in for the night, I kiss and squeeze her more than usual.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" she asks with confused eyes as I had her Ears the rabbit, but all I reply is.

"Nothing, Baby," just sleep safe and sound.

Clint and I spend the rest of the evening in near silence. When we finally climb into bed, I charge straight forward to him and bury my head in his chest close enough to hear his heartbeat. It's slow, steady pounding gives me a small bit of peace, but I still feel a tear run down my cheek.

Finally, he wraps his arms tightly around me and whispers in my ear.

"It's only a matter of time, isn't it? They're going to send you over there."

"_Probably…_" is the only response I can muster.

Suddenly, he lifts my face to his and wipes away the tear with a gentle stroke of his hand.

"Then be strong," he says with a voice that is somehow tender, but still hard as steel. "You're a warrior, Hatchet."

When he calls me that, I'm a little shocked. Clint never uses that name for me anymore. "You need to be a leader now, even more than you had to be for us. Bixby's an idiot. If you don't do your job for one second, he's going to get people killed…and not only your soldiers, but possibly some of those innocent people we saw on the news tonight too."

I take a deep breath and try to express what's going inside of me. It's something I've never been good at.

"Before the war, it was all so simple. I was alone and unafraid. I had nothing to lose. Then, when I was with the Mockingjays, it was _still_ simple…I knew I could count on every one of you to do your best, fight hard, and pull through. It was like we were invincible. I was never scared before, but now I'm terrified…I'm terrified that if I leave and go over there, that I'll never see you or my baby girl again." That's when the tears start pouring from my eyes.

Clint just smiles and places a soft kiss on my forehead.

"You can still be unafraid, Olivia," he says gently. "But know this. Know it down in the deepest part of your heart. _You'll never be alone._"


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the week passes uneventfully. On Saturday morning, I sleep in much more than usual for some reason that escapes me. When I finally roll over, the bright light of day pushes in through the window blinds and forces me to open my eyes. I reach over for Clint, but find the bed empty. Confused, I look around for a few seconds and then grab my communicuff off the nightstand. The time is almost 0900.

"Damn," I whisper as I push off the covers and head downstairs, still in my t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

In the living room, I hear Aurora giggling. She's watching cartoons on the television as she holds Ears the Rabbit in one hand and a spoon in the other. Between sight gags where a cartoon mouse hits a cartoon cat over the head with a frying pan, she takes bites from a bowl of cold cereal in her lap.

"Watching that stuff is gonna rot your brain," I say as I bend over to kiss her head.

"But, Mommy," she replies innocently, "it's funny," she says without looking away from the screen. I just shake my head as I walk into the kitchen. Clint has newspaper spread out over the entire kitchen table and is examining the electric motor from the washing machine with a pair of needle-nosed pliers.

"Breakfast this morning is that sugar cereal that Rori likes so much. Try a bowl. It's actually pretty good according to the giant parrot on the box."

_"Really?"_ I say looking at the electric motor he's working on.

"It was making some strange vibrations yesterday. I think it needs to be re-calibrated," Clint says putting down the pliers and picking up a screwdriver.

"You know, they have people whose only job is to fix stuff like that. All they ask in return is a little bit of money and they're just a phone call away," I say scratching at the messy mass of blonde hair around my head.

"Who do you trust more?" he says as he starts to unscrew the metal housing of the motor. "Some _stranger _or your husband who once completely overhauled a heavy machine gun while artillery rounds were dropping all around us?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" I say sarcastically as I pick up the box of cereal from the counter and walk over to the refrigerator for some milk.

_"Ha ha," _he says pulling the casing apart. "Ah, just I thought. Look, the magnets are out of alignment," he says proudly pointing into the open motor.

"_Fascinating,_" I say pouring the multi-colored bits of cereal from the box into a bowl and pouring on the milk. "Generally, I like a little more food with my sugar."

"Then feel free to make it," Clint says with a grin.

"On second thought, I'll go with the parrot…" I haven't even taken a bite yet when the communicuff on my wrist starts beeping. I curse out loud.

"Don't answer it then," Clint says wiping some grease off his hands and onto the newspaper.

"You know that's not how this works," I say pressing the answer button. "Sergeant Major Hightower."

_"It's Lieutenant Colonel Bixby. One hour in the briefing room at headquarters in uniform. This is from General Hallonger and it's big." _Without waiting for a response, he hangs up. I rub my eyes and angrily throw down my spoon.

"I'm gonna kill that man," I say as I push back from the table and head to the shower.

"Just be sure you make it look like an accident!" Clint calls after me.

Fifty minutes later, I sit alone at the conference table in Fort Sturm's situation room at post headquarters. The building was empty when I walked in past the guards and I haven't seen anybody else. Just when I'm starting to think that Bixby pulled a prank at my expense, he walks in through the side door and sits down next to me.

"Sir, what the hell is going on?" I ask.

"I'm not sure," he says confused. "The general's aide called me and said that it was an emergency brief and…" Before he finishes his sentence, another officer walks in and shouts, _"The Post Commander!"_ Bixby and I reflexively shoot upwards to the position of attention as General Hallonger walks in and takes a seat at the head of a table.

"Take your seats," he says as he situates himself. Bixby and I sit back down. Another officer appears with a stack of briefing packets and places one in front of each of us. I look around the room and see that the two of us are the only people here. None of the other battalion command teams or even brigade staff has been invited. This makes me _very_ nervous.

"I'm sorry to have to call you in on such short notice," General Hallonger continues as he starts to flip through his briefing packet, "but we just received a priority communique from the Ministry of Defense that requires immediate attention. Slide!" he shouts to his assistant who presses a button on the control station that brings the holographic projector in the front of the room to life. The words, "OPERATION MANNA," appear in large letters hovering in the air. "As you may or not be aware of, the situation in Tripolitania continues to deteriorate. About a week ago, our government received an official request on behalf of the Europeans to assist with military forces. After several courses of action were considered, President Reefs called a special closed session of the Legislature last night which approved the operation which we will now brief.

In 96 hours, 1-1 Infantry will forward deploy to Joint Operating Base "Mariner" located on Isla Cartina in the Mediterranean Sea. The base is the primary operations center for Francian and Italian forces conducting relief operations in Tripolitania…"

Over the next half an hour, General Hallonger lays out the plan for me and Bixby. We will fly by transport hovercraft to JOB Mariner, where we will assist in food delivery operations by air since the sea-lanes have been compromised by the pirate tribes. If food shipments continue to be intercepted, we will assist the Europeans in an attack on the pirate headquarters camp. Our relief will follow at an undetermined date in the future. Until then…_the Gunslingers will hold by ourselves._

Finally, General Hallonger completes his brief and asks,

"Questions?"

"None, Sir," Bixby shouts back before talking with me. Annoyed, I raise my hand.

"I have one, Sir." Bixby shoots and an angry look in my direction, but as always, I don't care.

"Go ahead, Sergeant Major," Hallonger says calmly.

"1-1 Infantry will be the forward deployed element in this operation, correct?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major."

"Where will our support be located at?"

"Food, fuel, and ammunition will be provided by the Europeans while food aid from Panem will be sent by contracted civilian shipping to the European mainland where it will be forwarded to you by the Francians for delivery to the Tripolitanians via military hovercraft." General Hallonger turns back to his assistant at the projector controls. "Can you go back to the Sustainment slide please…"

"No, Sir," I say irritated. "I don't need to see the Sustainment slide again. I was referring to our additional military forces in the event that we have to make a landing on the African mainland."

"This is primarily a humanitarian mission, Sergeant Major," General Hallonger replies nonchalantly. "We don't foresee you having to conduct any kind of active maneuver against the militias."

"But it is a possibility, yes?"

"Of course."

"So, you're telling me that one battalion of light hovercraft infantry is supposed to take on an _unknown_ number of openly hostile militias armed with an _unknown _amount of possibly heavy weapons?"

"Isn't that what you've been trained to do?" General Hallonger asks somewhat sarcastically. This really begins to upset me.

"Sir, with all due respect, I trained my men to fight under any conditions put before them, yes…but I didn't train them to head into an uphill fight against superior forces cut off from resupply and reinforcements!" Suddenly, I feel Bixby's hand grasp my thigh firmly under the table signaling me shut up, but I'm done putting up with him for now. I reach down and grab his wrist, twisting it so firmly he is forced to let go. I see him wince in the corner of my eye.

_"Hope you enjoyed that, Sir," _I think with satisfaction. _"That's the closest thing to intimacy you and I are ever going to have."_

"Sergeant Major," Hallonger continues in his infuriatingly casual tone, "This plan was developed by the Chief of the Defense Forces under advisement from most of the top military thinkers in Panem…_including Retired General Snow_."

"Sir, I know General Snow very well, and he would never send in a battalion by itself against forces like that."

"It is true, General Snow advised sending in a substantially larger force than just 1-1 Infantry, but the Chief advised President Reefs to limit it to one battalion for fear that it would appear to the Tripolitanians that we were attempting an invasion of their territory. Also, you'll have a joint unit of Francians and Italians at JOB Mariner in the event that you encounter overwhelming enemy forces. After all, this is _their_ operation. You know how diplomacy and politics works, right?" he says with a smug grin.

"Sir, permission to speak freely?" I ask firmly. General Hallonger pauses for a few seconds before finally nodding his head.

"Only because of my respect for your accomplishments, Sergeant Major."

"The Europeans just completed a major conflict only five years ago. While I do have enormous respect for their fighting ability, they do not yet possess the training or the resources to wage another conflict. That's why they're asking for our help in the first place isn't it?

If the Chief of the Defense Forces is more concerned with diplomacy than he is for the success of military operations, then he picked the wrong, damn line of work. If we have to go in there alone, than you're going to be writing a hell of a lot of condolence letters to the parents of my soldiers!"

"The plan is set, Sergeant Major!" General Hallonger shouts back at me. "You will execute it exactly as it has been ordered. Keeping your soldiers alive in combat is _your_ job, not mine. Do I make myself clear?"

"Chrystal, Sir…"

"Good…_Dismissed_."

Bixby and I push back from the table and exit the room in silence. We walk, shoulder to shoulder, down to the lobby, past the guard desk, and out the front doors. As we exit into the mid-morning sunlight towards the granite steps, I feel a hand on my shoulder as Bixby spins me around to face him.

"IF YOU EVER EMBARRASS ME IN FRONT OF THE POST COMMANDER LIKE THAT AGAIN I WILL END YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" he screams, pointing his hand in my face in a foolish attempt to intimidate me. Calmly, I look around and see that the whole area is deserted on this fine Saturday morning. Whatever happens, it will be my word against his…

Like a flash of lightning, I grab his outstretched hand, twist it into a wrist-lock, and drop him to his knees as he grits his teeth in pain.

"Alright, _Sir_, listen and listen good…." I whisper right into his ear. "Back here in the civilized world, I bow and curtsy to you like a good little girl because you're the commander and I work for you…but we're going into the sh.t now, and could be facing some very hostile mother ..s who want nothing more than to put a bullet into our hides and watch us bleed out on the sand.

I've seen things…things you wouldn't believe sitting on your cushy little position on Colonel Tavington's staff like you did during the war. I refuse to watch one soldier die because you were too much of a coward to stand up to a General who dropped a .d up plan in our laps and then said, 'Execute.'

When we get over there, this is exactly what you're going to do: stand in front of the formation, wave your little hand, say a few words of encouragement to us all, and then get the hell out of my way. _Do you understand?_"

He's in too much pain to speak, but still manages to nod his head furiously. "Good," I say as I release him and turn to walk over to the office. There's still a lot of planning that needs to be done.


	7. Chapter 7

I finally arrive home late in the afternoon after a long day of preparation and notifications. I have to hand it to the first sergeants, they took the order to prepare their companies with a level of professionalism that surprised even me. There were no complaints, no objections…just a desire to accomplish the mission.

I walk through the kitchen door and take a seat at the table. The light outside is just starting to fade into evening. Clint hears me and walks in from the living room. Without any words, he takes a seat next to me and reaches for my hand. As he squeezes my palm, I gaze up to his face. I can tell from the look in his eyes that he already knows the news I must tell him.

"What did you tell Aurora?" I finally manage to get out.

"Nothing yet," he says shaking his head. "I didn't want to upset her without any hard information."

"Good, good," I mutter softly.

"Should I go and get her?" he asks. I pause for a second as I consider just laying everything out now, but somehow it just doesn't seem right here.

"When was the last time the three of us went to the park together?"

"The park?" Clint asks confused.

"Yeah," I say with a smile. "I can't remember when we all went as a family."

"Neither can I now that you mention it," he replies.

"Let's go then."

"Now?" Clint says even more confused. "I was about to start dinner."

"Forget dinner," I say even more resolutely. "I want to be outside with you guys."

"Ok…" he says trailing off. We both go upstairs and grab Aurora. The evenings are now nice and warm, so we don't bother putting her in a jacket. Instead, she just grabs Ears the Rabbit and we're off down the street.

There's a small playground a few houses down from us where the local children can always be found running and playing, but when we arrive, the whole place is deserted. There's no sound at all except for Aurora's voice and the breeze blowing through the landscaped trees on the sidewalk.

I challenge Aurora to race across the sand to the jungle gym. She charges forward, laughing the whole way. When we reach the finish line, she's beaten me by a hair as I pretend to be out of breath.

"You gotta keep up, Mommy!" she says grinning from ear to ear.

"You, Little Girl, are getting fast!" I say as she reaches her arms out and I hoist her up to the top of the monkey bars. We play for a few minutes as Clint comes over to join us. As Aurora becomes distracted by trying to hang upside down from the highest bar, I leave her to Clint's supervision and walk over to an empty bench on the other side of the sand.

I sit down and stare at my husband and daughter just enjoying being safe, innocent, and free from danger. That's when I realize why I wanted to come here. I wanted the most important memory of today to be a happy one, rather than having to tell the people I love most in this world that I'd be going away…._possibly forever._

_ "No,"_ I think as I push that possibility away from my thoughts. It will be a short, little separation and I'll be home before they even know I'm gone.

I see Aurora's face glitter in the setting sun, and suddenly another memory pops into my head: the moment I realized that I would become a mother…

My eyes slowly open and I stare up at the bare wooden ceiling of _The Three Foxes_. The sun is just starting to rise outside the window of the room that Clint and I now share. We've been back from what we called our "honeymoon" for over two weeks, but since the arrival of the UDP fleet, we've been working very late at Tower Control planning the invasion of Francia.

Clint lies next to me under the blankets, still snoring a little bit. At first, I'm not sure why I've awoke so early, but then it hits me: a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's everything I can do to sneak out of the bed without waking Clint, dash to the bathroom, and heave my guts into the toilet instead of all over the floor. After about a minute of pure hell, I push myself back to my feet and walk over to the washbasin. I dip my hands into the cool water and then rinse the taste of vomit out of my mouth. Finally, I examine myself in the mirror.

I'm wearing nothing but my underwear as I check my body for any signs of illness. Everything seems normal now.

_"I don't remember eating anything strange or out of the ordinary last night…"_ Suddenly, a fit of nervousness grips me. I start to play with the metal dog tags hanging on the chain around my neck. _"What week is it?" _I say praying my instinct is wrong. I start counting backwards in my head. _"When was my last?…Oh Sh..."_

I run out of the bathroom and quickly throw on some clothes without waking Clint. Quietly, I sneak out of room and down the stairs. My first thought was to go straight to Doc, but I realized that could have _major_ consequences. He would have to talk to General Snow, and more likely than not, I'd be spending the invasion of the TEC sitting in Tower Control while my husband and the rest of the Mockingjays suffered through a terrible fight without their best shooter. No matter what, I _cannot_ let that happen. I need to talk to someone who understands what I'm going through. Unfortunately, none of the other Mockingjays, even General Snow, could ever hope to be of help.

Mrs. Marbury, the innkeeper, stands behind the empty bar with a rag wiping down the glasses. Without a sound, I step up to the bar and take a seat across from her. For some reason, I'm too embarrassed to say a word. This is not something an infantryman needs to be dealing with on the eve of combat.

"Don't you think it's a little early…_even for you, Dearie?_" she says with her warm and comforting smile. I'm so happy to have her right now. I need a woman's help.

"I don't think I'm going to be doing that for awhile…" I manage to whisper without looking up at her.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"I….think….I could possibly be…" I can't bring myself to say, _"pregnant."_ All I do is point down to my stomach. Without another word, Mrs. Marbury throws down her rag, steps out from behind the bar, and gently grabs my arm.

"C'mon," she whispers into my ear kindly. "I know exactly who you need to talk to."

She leads me out the door into the cobblestone streets of London. We walk together for a few minutes till we reach a small house with a wooden sign over the door. There is nothing written on it, just a painted picture of a mortar and pestle.

Mrs. Marbury bangs on the door.

"Babs!" she shouts so loudly that I look around the street to see if anyone else is staring at me. No one does. Unfortunately, I'm guessing the sight of an older woman leading a younger woman to this place in the early morning hours is not that uncommon.

Suddenly, the wooden door flies open. Standing there is a woman so old and grizzled that I think she could have been alive when Britannia first started fighting the TEC two centuries ago.

"Do you know what bloody time, it is?" the old woman screeches to Mrs. Marbury as I just stand there almost shaking.

"You know there's no off-hours in your line of work, Babs," Mrs. Marbury says shaking her head.

"Aye, aye," she says before turning to me. "What's the problem with this one?" I can't bring myself to say anything, but Mrs. Marbury continues to speak for me.

"She needs to know for sure."

"Alright," Babs says stepping aside. "C'mon on in and have seat." The three of us walk inside. I'm amazed as I look at the walls. They're lined with wooden shelves from floor to ceiling containing glass jars with every kind of herb, flower, and strange animal part known to man. There's a long wooden table with a few chairs next to it. Mrs. Marbury leads me over and sets me down like a scared child before sitting right next to me.

Babs immediately gets to work. She collects five or six of the jars and mixes a measured amount of their contents into a bowl. Finally, she grabs a small wooden stick and smears a dallop of the green paste from the bowl onto the end of it.

"Water Closet's in there," she says pointing to a door and handing me the stick.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" I ask confused.

"What do you think you're supposed to do with it?" Babs says. "Put it between your legs and pee."

"WHAT?" I shout nearly knocking my chair over. "Is there any other way to tell?" I ask as I feel my face turn bright red.

"Aye," Babs says still holding the stick in front of me. "But that would involve me getting up close and personal with your lady parts and I don't think either of us knows each other well enough for that to happen."

I want to run out the door and pretend that none of this ever happened, but Mrs. Marbury just grabs my arm again to calm me down. Defeated, I take the stick from Babs and walk to the bathroom. Safely inside, I somehow manage the task.

I return to Babs, holding the stick out as far away from me as I can, but she immediately reaches out and grabs it from me. Apparently, after years and years, she's no longer bothered by touching a stranger's urine. Babs pulls out a pocket watch and stares at it while she shakes the stick in the air. Finally, after a few minutes, the paste turns from a dark green to a light pink.

"Congratulations," Babs says unceremoniously throwing the stick in a refuse bin.

"This can't be happening right now," I say almost in tears as I bury my head in my hands.

"Are you sure about that?" Babs says interrupting my thoughts.

"What?" I ask surprised.

"When was the last time you bled?" she says through her wrinkled face.

"What!" I ask even more surprised.

_"When was the last time you bled?"_ she repeats. I look over to Mrs. Marbury who just nods encouragingly. I think back in my mind.

"About five weeks I think…"

"Then it's not too late." Babs suddenly grabs another ten jars off the shelf. She mixes their contents into a clay mug, then fills it to the brim with something that appears to be wine. She pushes the fowl-smelling concoction towards me. "Drink that, and by tomorrow morning it won't be a problem anymore."

Suddenly, it dawns on me what she's suggesting. As I stare down at the clay mug, I realize that it would certainly be easier. Clint and I have years to start a family, but this war is going on right now. Tentatively, I wrap my trembling hands around the mug. Just as I'm about to knock the contents down my throat, an image suddenly passes through my head that makes me push it back towards Babs with a new found resolve.

_"No…."_

The image that passed through my mind on that day in Babs' shop was the one that I'm seeing right now from the bench in the park. Clint, lovingly laughing and joking with our little girl as she tries to have her stuffed rabbit climb on the monkey bars with her.

As Aurora starts to tire out, Clint leaves her playing in the sand with Ears and walks over to me. He takes a seat on the bench and I immediately wrap my arms around him.

"You're going to Africa, aren't you?" he says calmly.

"Yes," I say as I simultaneously stare at Aurora and fight back tears.

"And you're going very soon, aren't you?"

"Four days…"

I expect him to fly into a frenzy, but instead he just wraps his arms around me tighter and lets me rest my head in his chest.

"Then we better tell her right now," he whispers in my ear.

I nod as he lifts me off the bench. We hold hands as we walk toward our beautiful daughter together.


	8. Chapter 8

We agreed to give the Gunslingers Sunday off to settle their personal matters and say the appropriate goodbyes to their families. There won't be much time for going home from now on. Just a week ago at this time, I was leading the battalion on a long and winding run through Fort Sturm's tranquil peaks in the quiet morning air. Now, everyone stands in full combat gear ready for final preparations. As soon as this formation is released, the first sergeants will start with inspecting their troops' equipment, followed by loading everything into the hovercraft for deployment, and finally, we will begin a series of grueling emergency training sessions and rehearsals. It may sound like a brutal way to spend our last few free hours in civilization, but we must face facts…_we're possibly going to war._

"BATTALION!" I shout as I stand in front of everyone once again. "ATTEN-TION!"

"GUNSLINGERS!"

Immediately, I turn around and face Bixby. We haven't said more than two sentences to each other since our little exchange on the post headquarters' steps Saturday morning, but I can tell he's not taking it well. It's like I shoved a needle into his overinflated ego and it's completely deflated. He's standing directly behind me, and I can tell he's trying to hide a hint of restlessness behind his nervous face. As he walks over to take the formation from me, that's when I realize, _he's never spoken to the whole battalion at once before._

As he approaches, I keep my hand at the level of my eye. It's a sign of respect that I will continue to show him in front of the troops. They must at least _think_ their command team is on the same page, or else panic and chaos could set in faster than a forest fire in dry timberland.

"Sir, the battalion is formed," I say with a calm tone that I hope will set him at ease.

"Thank you, Sergeant Major," he whispers back with a salute. I nod and take my place to his rear.

He stands there a few seconds just staring at the soldiers like he's never seen them before. I can feel the awkward tension building in the air around us. Then, as I finally see his mouth start to move, it's like he's forgotten everything he's ever learned and trying desperately to remember what to say.

"Post, Sir," I whisper soft enough so that only he can hear me. "Say _'Post'_."

"POST!" Bixby shout as he finally comprehends my less than subtle hint. My heart drops as I realize that Bixby is little more than my puppet at this point. Perhaps my words to him had a far greater impact than I could have imagined. The company commanders run around from the back of their formations and silently exchange places with their first sergeants. It's an ancient military tradition that many consider archaic, but it's just how we do things.

Standing there, watching Bixby stumble through basic drill and ceremonies, I realize that I actually have started to genuinely pity this man. My combat experiences brought me recognition and advancement. Though completely unintended (and somewhat unwanted) it's given me a leg to stand on in situations like this. His combat experiences were limited to filing reports in a command post well behind the lines. No soldier would ever give you respect solely for that. I'd never realized before just how difficult it must be for him to have to live in the shadow of your subordinate's reputation.

"At Ease," Bixby says, allowing the men to relax a little. He pauses again, trying to find his voice.

"_Men,_" he states in a stereotypically deep and martial tone which causes me to roll my eyes.

"_This isn't a movie, Sir. Speak to them from the heart,"_ I desperately think to myself so loudly I pray he can hear it through my skull.

"Our nation has picked us for a great honor," Bixby continues while trying to steady his voice. "As you probably already know, we've been selected as the only unit in the Defense Forces to deploy to Tripolitania to assist in resolving the crisis there."

He rambles in an artificial and grandiose tone that does little to endear him to the audience. I guess he doesn't remember that the average age of the listeners is early twenties with only a secondary school education. Bixby continues his rant, lacing it with patriotic fervor and obscure notions of what honor and duty means. I must admit, I'm impressed with his sincerity (it's the most I've ever heard out of him), but it still does little to stir emotions in the Gunslingers.

"And in keeping with our warrior ethos, I know that every single one of you will do us proud…" he says finally finishing after about five painful minutes. He stares out a sea of blank faces and I can instantly see his nervousness turn to panic. His eyes dart back and forth from one end of the formation to the other looking for some kind of recognition, but there is none. Luckily, for him, I've prepared for this unfortunate eventuality. Just when I think he's about to run back inside the building and hide, I whisper again

"Sir," I say with a subtle nod of my head. Thankfully, Bixby finally figures out when it's time to call it quits.

"Sergeant Major!" he shouts with resolve back in his voice. "Do you have anything?"

"Yes, Sir," I say striding back out in front of him. "Thank you," I nod respectfully. He nods back and steps aside. While I was getting ready for this formation, I tried to think of the most motivating words I've ever heard before going into action. Instantly, I remembered General Snow's speech to the troops before the Francian invasion. He had a genius idea of how to make the troops want to fight..._make it personal._

I reach into my pocket and pull out a small chrome sphere. Clint struck up a good relationship with Maggie while we were still in Britannia, and she let him take this diabolical little object from one of their Research Labs. I've never viewed it as anything more than a toy until today, when I realized it could be a valuable visual aide as well.

I start to pace back and forth across the front of the formation, making eye contact with as many soldiers as I can. I need their undivided attention. I casually toss the sphere up into the air and then catch it over and over again. Their gazes are drawn to its steady motion. Suddenly, I spot a private from Bravo Company in the front row.

"You!" I say pointing my right index finger directly at him. "What's your name?"

"Private Orlius, Sergeant Major!"

"And where are you from?"

"District 9, Sergeant Major!"

"How old are your parents, Orlius?"

"My dad is almost sixty, Sergeant Major. My mom's a little younger."

"But not by much?" I ask flippantly.

"No, Sergeant Major," he says sounding quite confused.

"Hmmm…" I say starting to toss the sphere again. I can tell everyone is wondering where I'm going with this, _which is exactly what I want…_

"Did they ever tell you stories of what it was like growing up before the Revolution?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major…" Orlius says trailing off a little. They had to work in the wheat fields for fourteen hours a day."

"I bet they still didn't get enough to eat."

"No, Sergeant Major. They remember taking tesserae."

"I bet they do. I bet they told you what it was like to live through a Reaping…trading the chance at death for a little extra food …" I say turning around and pacing back in the other direction.

"Yes, Sergeant Major," Orlius says quietly behind me.

"Did anyone here ever know of someone who was taken as a tribute by the Capitol? Perhaps a family member or maybe even a close family friend?" A few dozen hands shoot up in the crowd. First Sergeant Galbiaz's is one of them.

"First Sergeant," I say walking towards him. "Do you mind telling us who that was for you?"

"No, Sergeant Major," he says with a quiet calm in his voice. "It was my uncle. He was a tribute from District 10 in the Sixty-Third Hunger Games. He was taken from my family, dressed in a ridiculous cowboy outfit, paraded in front of millions of people, and then died when another starving child stabbed him in the back for a piece of bread he had in his backpack."

There's an audible gasp from the formation as he continues his story.

"My mother's family worked on a ranch with two-thousand head of cattle…but they couldn't take a single one of them to feed themselves. After my uncle was reaped…_and killed_…they almost starved because his tesserae were taken away. Whenever I wouldn't finish the food on my plate, my mother used to tell me stories about him and how she used to cry herself to sleep every night because of how hungry she was after he was gone. It's something I will never forget as long as I live, no matter how hard I try."

Even though five hundred people stand shoulder to shoulder, you can easily hear a pin drop. I look around and see some eyes even have tears in them as similar personal memories are drawn to the surface. I look back over to First Sergeant Galbiaz. He stands as stoically as ever, but I know on the inside his heart is screaming.

"Thank you for sharing that with us, First Sergeant," I say respectfully. I turn back to the rest of the soldiers. "Like First Sergeant here, I know how painful it is to live with a burden like that." I pause and take a deep breath. "Well, I'm sure as a lot of you already know, my mother was a tribute in the Games…_twice_. When I was growing up, she used to tell me stories about her experiences…horrible stories that I tried to block out with every bit of my conscious effort. I remember screaming at her, 'Why are you telling me this? That's in the past! It doesn't happen anymore!' Unfortunately, I was wrong…"

Without warning, I throw the chrome sphere into the ground next to me. The micro-holoprojector inside engages and broadcasts a twenty foot tall image into the air in front of the whole formation. It is the gaunt face of the starving little girl from the news report Clint and I watched last week. Her piercing gaze, magnified by size and proximity, burns into every single member of the battalion.

"…The horror stories are still happening. They happen every day in places like Tripolitania, where some still use food as a weapon to control the helpless." I look out to the faces in the formation, staring up at the holo-image with a mix of horror and rage.

"But we have something that our parents, and our parents' parents, and our parents' parents' parents, never dreamed of in their world: _we have the means to make a difference._ We have the resources, the training, but most of all, we have the stone-cold will to say that we will no longer tolerate crimes like this in our world.

Our unit may be the only force going on this mission right now, but I don't care about that," I say clenching my fists into tight balls at my sides. "All I know, is that I'm going to fight like hell for my mother, and First Sergeant Galbiaz's uncle, and every other man, woman, and child who ever was the victim of sick and twisted sh.t like this!" I say pointing up the girl's gaunt face. _"Now, who here wants to fight with me?" _I spit out with a venom that cuts like the sharp edge of a knife.

Suddenly, a roar erupts from the Gunslingers that echoes across all of Fort Sturm to the distant mountains and back again. I'm positive that there's no longer a single sleeping human being left on this whole post.

"Alright then," I say stepping back to my place at the head of the formation. "Let's get to work!"


	9. Chapter 9

I haven't been home in over thirty-six hours. It's been nothing but furious work and preparation from day into night, back to day and into night again. Now, with the sun long gone, I find myself staring out the window of my office, wondering what tomorrow will bring as we set out into the unknown.

I said my goodbyes to Clint and Aurora on Sunday evening. There never was a guarantee that I would make it home before H-Hour, and quite frankly, I was happy to get that gut-wrenching task out of the way as soon as possible. With the amount of tears that were shed on both sides, it was not pretty by any means.

Unfortunately for my getaway plan, we completed our tasks a few hours ahead of schedule and were able to give the soldiers one final night on their own before we deploy in the morning. Now, as I sit by myself, afraid to go home and face the possibility of losing it again at the sight of my loved ones, I feel more alone than ever. That's when I sense someone's presence behind me.

Slowly, I turn my chair around to see Bixby leaning in my doorway once more, but the smug sense of satisfaction in his face that I found so annoying is gone. Instead, there is finally a genuine human being standing in front of me.

"I'd thought you'd be home by now, Sir."

"That's the problem with being a bachelor, Sergeant Major," he replies. "Don't really have a reason to..._you on the other hand…"_

"I'd prefer not to go into that, if possible."

"Fair Enough," Bixby says dropping the subject. "By the way," he says nervously rubbing his hand across his shorn head. "I haven't gotten the chance to thank you," he says humbly.

"For what, Sir?" I ask curiously.

"C'mon," he says taking a few steps inside my office. "I was about as inspiring to the battalion as a dry piece of white toast…_But you_…let's just say that I was quite moved by your little speech."

"I'm glad I had the desired effect," I say cracking a small grin. He walks over to the chair in front of my desk.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" he asks carefully.

"Go ahead, Sir," I say with a polite wave of my hand. He cautiously takes a seat. I can tell he's struggling to find the words to say something that's bothering him.

"You know…" he says timidly, "my great-grandfather was a Victor."

"Really?" I say somewhat surprised.

'I thought about raising my hand when you asked the battalion if we had any friends or family in the Games, but for some reason, it just didn't feel right."

"Why not?"

"Because," he says looking down at the floor. "What you meant was if we knew any _victims _of the Hunger Games. My great-grandfather was a Career. He _volunteered _for them."

"Sir," I say trying to sound understanding. "Even Careers could be victims."

"Still," he says seemingly afraid to look me in the face. "Everyone in my family admired him so much. The stories my parents told were about how my great-grandfather brought pride and honor to the District. Brought food and wealth to us by fighting." He starts to shake his head like he's about to make a personal epiphany he desperately doesn't want to. "Ever since I was a little kid…_I wanted to be him_. I wanted to fight, I wanted to kill, and I wanted to win. I wanted people cheering my name in triumph! I always knew I wanted to join the military, but not out of some sense of duty or honor like I tried to sell the soldiers back there. _I wanted to be a hero._

But what you said to me after the meeting, and then what you told the battalion, made me realize…that I never really got it. I never let in what it really meant. There was nothing glorious about the Games, and there's nothing glorious about going into combat either."

"That's where you're wrong, Sir," I say shaking my head "There can be glory in combat, but it comes not when you fight for yourself, but when you fight for those who can't fight for themselves." Something about my words touches him. I can instantly see his eyes open a little wider in understanding.

"I guess I don't know anything about anything," he pauses. "And I'm glad I have you to keep me on the right path."

I lean back in my chair and can't help but smile. Finally, through some miracle, it seems Bixby has learned some humility.

"Sir, if you finally realize that you don't know anything, then that's the first step to really learning something. I think you'll be alright."

Bixby smiles and lifts himself to his feet.

"I'm glad you think so, Sergeant Major," he says turning toward the door. "Skids up at 0600 tomorrow. I'm going home and getting some sleep. I strongly suggest you do the same."

"You know, Sir," I say flashing him another grin. "That may be the first piece of good advice you've ever given me." We both chuckle.

"Good night, Sergeant Major."

"Good night, Sir," he turns toward the door.

"Sir!" I say before he exits. He turns back around. _"The odds are going to be in our favor…"_

"I hope you're right," he quietly replies before finally disappearing down the dark hallway.

Once again, I find myself alone with my thoughts. They drift back and forth through many different memories. Some, like my wedding day, my return to Panem at the end of the war, and then the birth of my child, are among my most treasured. Some, like watching my mother suffer flashbacks to her torture at the hands of the Capitol, running away from home at seventeen to get away from it all, and finally almost watching General Snow die at my feet in our escape from Germania, are ones that I've desperately tried to forget.

However, a strong realization finally sets in. One thing is always constant through every experience, good and bad. No matter what I've done, where I've gone, or who I've been with…_I've always been me. _

There's one last thing I have yet to do to prepare for Africa. It's time to remember who I am. Slowly, I rise from my chair, walk around to the front of my desk, and carefully open the glass case…

When I arrive home, the entire house is dark. I think Clint went to bed early because he doesn't want to risk the emotion of saying goodbye to me again either. I think what makes it especially hard is that both of us are combat veterans and he knows the dangers I could face as well as I do.

I sneak through the quiet, deserted rooms as stealthily as I can, not wanting to wake anyone upstairs. At last, I reach the door to the back porch and step outside. In the corner of the backyard next to the fence, is a shed. When we first moved in, Clint tried to claim it as a storage space for all his tools, but my firm resolve finally made him relinquish it to me. I told him

"This isn't going to a place for just any tools. This is going to be a place for one special tool and one special tool alone." I walk up to the unassuming wooden building, pull a key from my pocket, and open the padlock. I throw open the door to reveal an ancient sharpening wheel, made from the finest District 2 stone and passed down through generation after generation of Masons. My grandfather honed his axes to a razor edge along its coarse surface. When, I was a little girl, my mother showed me how to use it, and after I made my peace with her thanks to General Snow, she sent it to me so I could train my child when she was ready.

I walk over to a shelf and retrieve a bottle of special oil. It comes from a rare plant in District 7 that polishes the metal of an axe-head like nothing else can. Then, with the care of a master, I paint the curved wheel of the whetstone with a thin coat, ensuring the surface is perfect for my delicate task. Finally, I reach down to my belt, and pull out the weapon that gave me my name. I examine it's hand-forged steel in the bright moonlight.

"I'm sorry, old friend," I say aloud. "I haven't done this in far too long…"

My foot finds the wooden pedal at the base of the sharpening stone and begins to pump, spinning the wheel into a perfect, steady rhythm. Then, holding the dense hickory of the handle like it was a living thing, I gently kiss the edge of the blade against the stone. Microns of steel are shaved off the surface in tiny, glistening sparks that slowly create an edge that no enemy in the world could ever hope to survive.

As I slowly pass the hatchet back and forth across the spinning stone, my mind clears, and I become aware of nothing else but the task at hand.

"The hatchet will always tell you when it's ready," my mother used to say to me as she sharpened her weapons on this very stone. "You just have to learn how to listen." I never knew what she meant until she gave me the implement that I now hold in my hands and I began to care for it on my own. Eventually, the hatchet becomes so much more than just another weapon, it becomes an extension of your body that you must learn to understand.

Suddenly, a tingle runs through my body.

"_There it is,"_ I think to myself as I gently pull the edge away from the stone. _"Perfect."_

I hold the newly honed edge up towards my eyes. It sparkles as the blue of the moonlight strikes its surface. I know in my heart that my weapon is ready, but there's still only one way to know for sure. At the far end of the shed, is something else that I asked my mother to send me from home. Hanging against the wall is a round target made from a two-foot wide cylinder of District 7 hardwood, cut straight from the heart of an old growth tree. It is twice as dense as normal timber and heavy enough to simulate the roughest opponent. I rear back and prepare to throw when suddenly a voice calls from behind me.

"Mommy?" I spin around and see Aurora, standing in the doorway of the shed in her pajamas, cradling Ears the Rabbit in her arms, and staring back at me with a look a wonder. "What is that?"

"Rori," I say running over. "What are you doing up, Baby?" I kneel down beside her and see that her eyes are completely fixated on the object in my hands.

"Something made me wake up, and when I saw the shed open, I knew that it had to be you. No one but you comes back here," she says without taking her eyes off my weapon. "What is that?" she asks again even more forcefully. Slowly, I hold up the hatchet next to her.

"This," I say slowly turning the hickory handle so that it catches the light, "is something very special." Aurora carefully raises her tiny hand and touches the cool metal of the hatchet head. At first, I'm afraid that she might cut herself on the razor sharp edge, but then somehow, instinctually, I know that she won't. Reverence for this object is in her blood. She respects it, so it will respect her. "When I was just a little older than you, your grandmother taught me how to use this."

I keep looking at the wonder in Aurora's face. She still can't take her eyes off the hatchet, like somehow she knows that she and it will one day too share an unspoken bond. Suddenly, Aurora turns to me and asks.

"Will you teach me how to use it?"

"Soon, Baby," I say. "Soon."

"When you get from Africa?" The way Aurora says those words nearly rips my heart out and fills me with iron resolve simultaneously.

"We'll see," I whisper before giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"It will keep you safe while you're over there, won't it?" Aurora says with a newly found assurance I've never heard from her before.

Suddenly, I feel what I haven't felt in a long time:_ invincible_. "Yes, Honey, it will. Now, go back to bed, Sweetheart. It's very late." Aurora silently nods, turns around, and takes a few steps back toward the house. Then, without warning, she turns back towards me again.

"I love you, Mommy."

"I love you too. _Mommy will always love you,"_ I say fighting back tears. She walks back to the house and disappears inside. Immediately, I wipe my eyes and steady myself in the cool night air. I look up and stare at the sky, knowing that very soon, I will once again be on the other side of the world in a strange and unfamiliar land, but my rediscovered confidence becomes a shield against the pain and doubt. That's when I make myself a promise:

"_I will make it back to them. No matter what, I will come home again. Nothing will stand in my way."_

I look down at my hatchet one final time, firmly wrapping my fingers around its hard, wooden handle. Then, without looking, I spin around, flick my wrist, and let the weapon fly into the darkness. A split-second later, I hear the sharp thud as the steel buries itself directly into the center of the hardwood target, and a slow grin creeps across my face.

"_Still got it."_


	10. Chapter 10

I am six years old again, walking through the woods on a bright, clear sunny day. The thick bed of dead leaves and moss feels glorious on my tiny bare feet and I'm still too young to care that my homespun dress is fast becoming soaked as I gleefully jump through every brook, stream, and mud puddle that I come across.

I'm so content, that I hum an old tune that my father whistles for me sometimes on the nights when I sit on his knee and gaze at the stars on our back porch back home in District 7. He didn't come on this trip with my mother and me. She insisted that it be "just the girls" this time, much to my chagrin. Even at this young age, I realize that I love spending time with my father much more than her…even though my many similarities to her can't be denied. She is just too smothering…too controlling. She always screams and cries at the strangest times and never lets me do what I want to do. Instead, she lectures and preaches about the dangers of everything outside of her direct control. That's why I ran off the first time she turned her back on me. I just wanted to be free for a few brief moments.

It's so warm and wonderful this day, part of me hopes she'll never find me and I can just be on my own forever. I actually giggle out loud at the sight of a fat squirrel munching on an acorn in a nearby tree.

"Hello, Mr. Squirrel!" I squeak loudly. The animal quickly becomes alarmed at my presence and starts leaping from branch to branch in an attempt to flee his strange new admirer. I happily give chase through the woods until I lose him to the top of a tall tree. Even though he's disappeared now, he's still managed to lead me to a wonderful green meadow filled with wild raspberry bushes…_my favorite_.

In a flash, I'm on my hands and knees, greedily shoving handfuls of the delicious ripe fruit into my little mouth. I'm so engrossed, that I don't notice the other visitor attracted to the promise of a quick and tasty snack.

Suddenly, I hear a loud rustling in a bush only a few feet away. I freeze in terror as a giant black bear crashes into the meadow and catches my scent. A deep growl emanates from his gullet and his nostrils flair open angrily. With a roar, he rears back onto his hind legs, towering over my cowering, miniscule frame. Even if I could find the courage to flee, I know it's useless to attempt any kind of escape. Instead, I just brace myself for the inevitable.

Just as the bear prepares to charge, a glistening flash flies straight over my head. I look on in awe as a hatchet buries itself deep into the animal's skull. He stumbles a bit, and then collapses forward onto his gigantic belly. A see a human silhouette jump out of the undergrowth, leap onto the bear's back, and wrench her blade from the creature's forehead. _It is my mother…_

"I'd thought you know better than anyone else not to mess with a mother's cub!" she screams as she hacks downward into the bear's jugular vein, dispatching him once and for all in a bright spray of crimson.

I'm still frozen in shock as my mother rips her hatchet from the bear's hide, gives it a quick snap of the wrist to flick the blood off the edge, and then comes barreling straight for me.

"Olivia!" she yells angrily as she grabs my little arm so hard that it hurts. Her piercing brown eyes burn into me like two embers. "Never run off like that again. _This is the Canada!_ There are dangers here around every bush and branch. That bear is probably the safest thing you could have come across.

I cannot _ever _lose you! You are too important and you are _all_ I care about. Do you understand me?" I feel my lip start to quiver and tears straight streaming down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," is all I can manage to squeak. Then, she immediately realizes that she's gone too far as usual.

"It's ok, Baby," she says as her voice softens to a motherly whisper. "You're safe and sound. Mommy's here." My mother pulls me close into her chest and slowly rubs my back until the tears stop. Then, she gently takes me by the hand and leads me back to the center of the meadow. She grabs a handful of berries from a nearby bush and starts playfully feeding them to me. I giggle again as one explodes in my mouth, sending a little bit of juice down my lips.

I look up to my mother, who seems to have something weighing on her mind. She grabs her hatchet and holds it up in front of me. It is still stained dark red from the bear's blood.

"Olivia," she says growing quite serious. "You need to learn how to use this. It will keep you safe, wherever you go…"

_"Sergeant Major…"_ my eyes fly open as I feel someone shake my leg. "Sergeant Major, I'm sorry to wake you," Private Weaver says leaning over my seat on the hovercraft, "but Lieutenant Colonel Bixby wanted me to get you. He's up in the cockpit with the pilots. We're on our final approach."

"Thanks, Weaves," I say as I shake my head back to the present. "Take your seat."

"Yes, Sergeant Major," she says as she disappears back toward the troop compartment. I unbuckle my harness and climb to my feet. I look down the long fuselage of the transport at row after row of seats filled with anxious soldiers ready to hit the ground running. This ship, and nine more just like it have flown in close formation all the way across the Atlantic, made a quick jump across Iberia, and then over across the Mediterranean.

I make my way up to the open cockpit door where I find Bixby standing over the pilot's shoulder and looking out the front viewscreen. The dim outline of a brown, rocky coast looms in the distance with turquoise blue water dancing around it's shore. My first view of Isla Cartina is not a good one. It looks like nothing more than a barren knob in the middle of the sea.

"Have a nice nap, Sergeant Major?" Bixby asks as I take my place next to him.

"I guess you could call it that, Sir," I say still rubbing a little bit of sleep from my eyes.

_"Gunslinger One, this is Mariner Base. You and your formation and cleared for landing. Welcome to Isla Cartina." _a voice suddenly crackles over the radio.

"Roger, Mariner Base," the pilot replies keying his headset. "We appreciate the hospitality."

"Back in the badlands…" Bixby mutters under his breath.

"Not as bad as the lands a couple hundred clicks south, Sir," I reply looking over to him. He just gives a nervous nod.

Our hovercraft zooms over the rocky coastline and approaches the tarmac. The pilots give a long slow circle over the landing zone as the ground controllers guide us in with bright orange paddles.

Sparse barely even begins to describe Joint Operating Base Mariner, an isolated little outpost in the middle of the deep blue sea. It is a collection of eight large aircraft hangars and what appears to be a headquarters building. One can only tell because it has three crudely constructed flagpoles in front of it. The banners of Francia and Italia flutter in the breeze on either side of the bright blue flag of the Independent States of Europe Joint Defense Command. It is too eerily similar to the TEC banner to be of much comfort.

The pilot brings the hovercraft to a gentle landing. Before disembarking, I get on the radio to inform the first sergeants in the other hovercraft to start an orderly unloading of our equipment. Then, Bixby and I head down the ramp and into the bright Mediterranean sun.

"Not much to look at, is it?" he says bemusedly.

"That's the understatement of the year," I say without looking at him. "Sir, this place looks like it can barely support the Europeans stationed here more or less us. I certainly don't want to have to stage a landing in Africa from this place."

"I don't know, Sergeant Major," Bixby says shaking his head. "I don't think we have a choice."

"Now, we don't, Sir," I reply. "The time to bring up that fact would have been in the planning meeting with General Hallonger."

_"Noted,"_ he says looking down at the ground a little embarrassed.

We look up to a see a figure emerge from the headquarters building and walk towards us. Despite the collapse of the TEC, the Europeans still retain much of its old equipment for their militaries. They still wear the same blue armor, except that the faceless, visored helmets have been replaced with blue berets. The man who now grows closer and closer appears to be an officer, and a rather high-ranking one at that.

Bixby and I both salute out of respect. The officer returns the gesture before introducing himself in a thick, Italian accent.

"Colonel Giacomo Ribaldi, Italian Ground Forces and commander of Joint Operating Base Mariner. You must be Lieutenant Colonel Bixby and Sergeant Major Hightower."

"Yes, Sir," Bixby says shaking the Colonel's hand.

"Welcome," Colonel Ribaldi says more than somewhat detached. "I'm afraid you have not arrived a moment too soon. The situation has continued to grow worse in Tripolitania. My command on the mainland requests that you begin your aerial aid delivery operations as soon as possible."

"Sergeant Major?" Bixby says turning to me.

"We've already brought the first 72 hours of aid shipments with us aboard our hovercraft, Sir," I say to Colonel Ribaldi. "If you give us the rest of the day to settle in, we should be able to send the first push out tomorrow morning."

"Excellent," he says to us both. "My team here will show you to the accommodations we have reserved for you. I'm afraid they may not be as luxurious as you may be used to…"

Unfortunately, the "accommodations" that Colonel Ribaldi were referring to are two empty hangars at the far end of the tarmac. Five hundred Gunslingers somehow manage to cram all their equipment and belongings into the two buildings with barely enough room to set up cots to sleep on. The result is something that appears to be more indoor gypsy camp than military billeting. In typical European fashion, Bixby and I are offered "real" quarters in the headquarters building along with Colonel Ribaldi and his staff but I refuse.

"A leader's place is with her soldiers," I say expecting a reaction from Ribaldi. All I receive in return is a mild snicker and the words

"Suit Yourself."

Much to my surprise, Bixby also refuses Ribaldi's offer and agrees to move into the hangars with the men.

_"He's learning…at least a little,"_ I think to myself with a chuckle as I watch him desperately try to unfold an army cot in the end of one of the crowded and cramped hangars.

As the burning sun begins to set over the western waves, Bixby and I take a walk along the shoreline to discuss the forthcoming missions.

"They'll begin loading the pallets of aid onto the first transport tomorrow at 0600. Skids up at 0700, Sir," I say taking in the scenery.

"Good, good," Bixby says lost in thought. "I want to try to launch a transport every twelve hours, each with a different target location on the ground. That way, we can keep the militias from being able to target one area and hopefully get some help to the people that need it."

"Sounds like a plan, Sir," I say more than a little impressed. I pause a bit before my next statement. "I want to go up with the first transport in the morning."

"Why?" Bixby replies confused.

"Maps and photo recons are one thing, Sir," but I want to see Tripolitania with my own eyes. Maybe start to get an idea of the terrain in case we have to plan landing sites."

"Alright," Bixby says apparently afraid to disagree with my logic. "Do you want me to come along?"

"Negative, Sir," I say firmly. "Not right now at least. I need you in that command center with Ribaldi acting as a liaison until he gets the warm and fuzzy on how we do business." Bixby just nods his head slowly.

"You know something, Sergeant Major," he finally speaks.

"What's that, Sir?"

"You were absolutely right. This whole thing seems rushed and unorganized…" I flash him a look of disdain before he corrects himself, "…but not on our part, I mean. The Europeans weren't prepared to receive us and I can't get any response from the Ministry on how or when we'll get some more help from Panem. It's like they just shoved us out the door and said '_Good Luck_."

"Well, Sir, I hope this helps you realize that just because a high ranking officer made it… doesn't mean the plan holds water." He chuckles a little bit to himself.

"Roger, that."

"One good thing is coming out of this though, Sir."

"And that is?"

"When they saw where they'd be living for the next few months, the men have suddenly become a lot more motivated to complete this mission and get the hell out of here." For the first time, he and I finally start to enjoy each other's company as the sound of our laughter echoes off the rocks and out over the dancing waves.


	11. Chapter 11

Just after six the next morning, Bixby joins me on the tarmac. I'm already prepped and ready to go on my little trip. For some reason that escapes me, I wasn't able to sleep last night. I've seen action more times than I can count, but one thing I've never been forced to endure is the sight of innocent people really suffering. I must be letting too much slip, because the once oblivious Bixby instantly picks up on it.

"Doing alright, Sergeant Major?" he asks carefully stepping towards me.

"Fine, Sir," I say watching the ground crews load the food onto the back of the idling transport hovercraft. Six pallets, loaded to capacity with white bags of grain, all pushed by hand up the ramp into the cargo bay at the rear of the fuselage. All the work is done under the watchful eye of the ship's loadmaster.

I can't help but notice the design printed on each of the bags. A large Mockingjay stares out from the great seal of the UDP with the same phrase, written in three languages beneath it:

_ "A Gift from the People of the United Districts of Panem."_

"Just a generation ago, our people had to trade a chance at death to get anything close to that amount of food," I say out loud shaking my head in disbelief. "Now, we're going to drop it out of the back of a flying hovercraft into the middle of the desert with just the hope it will find someone who needs it…"

"I think we can call that _'progress.' _Don't you agree, Sergeant Major?" Bixby quietly replies. I look over to him and nod my head.

"I think we can, Sir."

"Well," Bixby finally says after a few more quiet moments. "Colonel Ribaldi is expecting me in headquarters. I'll hear your report when you return."

"Roger, Sir," I say reaching down to the asphalt, picking up my rifle and body armor. "I should be back by noon. Mind if I grab some lunch and then meet up with you in the control room?"

"Good, we'll say 1300," he says before turning and heading towards the flagpoles. My communicuff ticks close to 0700 and I prepare to depart. Casually, I ensure that my armor and helmet are both strapped on tight and my rifle is locked, cocked, and ready to go. Finally, I give my hatchet one final tug on my belt, more as a good luck gesture than anything else. With one last deep breath, I step off.

As I reach the hovercraft just as the last pallet of grain is secured into the back of the cargo compartment. The ground crew produces a clipboard, which the loadmaster signs and passes back to them with a smile. He then looks over to me.

"Good morning, Sergeant Major!" he shouts. "I heard you'd be taking a little ride with us this morning. Pilots are already signaling they're REDCON 1. As soon as you're settled in, we'll go skids up." I give him a quick once over through my protective sunglasses. He's in nothing but boots, fatigue bottoms, and a t-shirt.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" I ask him in a harsh tone.

"What do you mean, Sergeant Major?" he replies confused.

"Did I put out a new uniform standard this morning and forget about it?" I say pointing to my gear. "Where the hell is your weapon and armor?"

"Oh, Sergeant Major," he says like I'm the one who's confused. "We don't like to wear that stuff in the aircraft. It makes it too hard to move around and if we have to get out quickly, it just gets in the way."

"And what happens after you get out?" I ask angrily. "Are you just going to walk around the battlefield while a thousand angry people shoot at you?"

"Well, Sergeant Major…"

"I don't give a flying what you what! This bird ain't going anywhere until you're in full battle rattle with your weapon. Tell the pilots the same goes for them too!"

"Yes, Sergeant Major," the loadmaster says crestfallen.

After a ten-minute delay of the loadmaster and two pilots sprinting back to the sleeping hangar to grab their stuff, the engines of the hovercraft finally rev to life and lift the massive transport skyward. I hold on tight as the pilots kick over from hover and shoot southward with a massive jolt.

_"Damn, I miss Tiller behind the controls…"_ I think shaking my head before finally settling down in my seat. For half an hour, we glide a thousand feet above the Mediterranean until at last, the pilot makes an announcement over the loudspeakers.

_"Approaching the coastline. We'll be over the Binwaldi Refugee Center shortly. ETA five minutes to Drop Zone."_ Suddenly, the loadmaster jumps into furious action. He runs from pallet to pallet, releasing the safety clamps and preparing for the drop. I must admit, I grin every time he has to squeeze his padded frame between the edges of the pallets and the wall of the cargo compartment.

_"So, that's why they don't like to wear their gear,"_ I think to myself.

I turn around and stare out of the small plexiglass window behind me. As the pilots make a slow turn toward the southeast, I finally catch my first glimpse of Tripolitania. The blue waves of the Mediterranean crash with brilliant white foam onto the brown sandy beaches below. Then, beyond where the soft, wet sand stops, there appears to be nothing but endless desert wasteland.

_"My God,"_ I think as I realize the scope of this operation. _"How are we possibly going to help the poor bastards that have to call this place home?"_ I pull myself to my feet and awkwardly step over the loadmaster. He stands near the ramp next to a control panel at the far end of the hovercraft.

_"60 seconds to Drop Zone. Stand by to drop ramp,"_ the co-pilot announces over the intercom. The loadmaster produces two pairs of goggles and hands one to me.

"You probably want to put those on," he says stretching his pair over the top of his helmet. Having never been aboard a transport during a cargo drop before, I take his advice.

_"Drop ramp,"_ the co-pilot commands.

"Ramp coming down!" the loadmaster says flipping a switch on his control panel. The massive cargo ramp unseals and opens into a massive, gaping maw in front of us. Dry, scalding wind pours in from the outside and totally surrounds us, blocking out all other sound. I'm glad I'm wearing the goggles. If not, I feel like my eyeballs could be ripped from my skull at any moment.

I take a few cautious steps toward the edge of the ramp. As my eyes adjust to the bright light outside, I see the sad state of affairs below. We picked the Binwaldi Refugee Center as our first target solely because it has been one of the hardest hit by the militias. According to the intelligence reports provided to us by the Europeans, ninety-percent of its occupants are the widows and children of the fighting. The other ten percent are old, crippled men. As a result, they're easy targets for pirate raiding parties.

I stare out of the back of the hovercraft at the sea of ramshackle buildings and tents beneath us. The women, dressed in long flowing gowns that cover their entire bodies, grab their children and run for cover, unsure of what this massive thing that suddenly appeared from the sky means. However, the pilots make a long, slow circle of the camp to show that we are not a threat. Soon, curiosity overcomes fear and they re-emerge to stare up at us in awe.

_"Ten seconds…" _the loudspeaker says coming to life again. I feel an arm grab the back of my body armor and pin me against the wall of the hovercraft.

"Sorry, Sergeant Major!" the loadmaster screams over the howling wind. "I don't want you getting caught on one of these pallets and going down with it," he says flipping a switch on his control panel. I just nod back in unsteady appreciation.

_"Four, three, two, one, green light…green light!" _The loadmaster pulls a long, red handle. Instantly a small drag chute deploys and inflates behind the hovercraft. The pallets lurch, accelerate, and clatter backward down the ramp into the open sky. Instantly they break apart sending the bags of food aid scattering across the whole drop zone. Then, in something eerily reminiscent of the Hunger Games, a thousand silver parachutes deploy, sending the food on a slow, controlled decent down to the sand.

One by one, the woman and children realize what we have sent them. They surge forward in one, frantic mass, practically grabbing the bags of grain out of the air before they hit the ground. The pilots circle around again so that the loadmaster and I can observe. I find myself choking up a little as I watch the desperate and starving grab as much as they can as if their lives depended on it. Then, I realize the horrible truth…_their lives really do depend on it._

"I've never seen anything like that…" the loadmaster says trailing off.

"Neither have I…" I reply softly.

_"Are we empty back there?"_ the co-pilot asks over the intercom. The loadmaster clicks a switch.

"Roger, all pallets successfully deployed."

_"Then can we get the hell out of here?"_ The loadmaster looks to me and all I can do is nod.

"Roger, let's head home," the loadmaster replies for me into the intercom. I'm just about to head back to my seat when a loud alarm starts echoing through the hovercraft.

_ "Warning, Missile Lock. Warning, Missile Lock," _a computerized female voice says calmly over the speakers.

"What the hell is going on up there!" the loadmaster screams into the intercom as I rush back over to my seat.

_"Hold onto something! Some bastard down there has us dead to rights with a shoulder-fired heat seeker!"_ At that moment, I see a white streak fly past the open cargo ramp and continue upward into the sky.

"Oh my God!" the loadmaster says reaching for an emergency handle attached to the wall. The alarms continue to ring out when the female voice returns.

_"Warning, Missile Lock. Warning, Missile Lock."_ Two more white streaks fly past the rear of the hovercraft, barely missing us. At the moment, the transport lurches hard to the right in an attempt to evade the attacks.

"Nobody said anything about the militias having anti-aircraft capability!" the loadmaster screams across the empty cargo compartment in a panic. "Didn't they know about it?"

"There's a lot of that going around!" is all I manage to say in response.

_"Warning, Missile Lock. Warning, Missile Lock."_ It's at that moment that time seems to slow down and I realize something. I've been through a lot of horrible things in my life, but I've never been in hovercraft that's been shot down before.

_"Well, I guess there's a first time for everything…"_

A massive explosion rips through the hovercraft. Metal debris and flames start shearing off of the right side of the ship.

_ "We're hit! We're hit! Port and Starboard stabilizers are inop! We're going down!"_ the pilots desperately shout over the intercom before the speakers fall silent. I hear the screams of the loadmaster as I try to shield my face from the flames and the debris. Everything starts to spin wildly as I see the brown earth below grow closer and closer out the open ramp.

"Hold on!" I desperately shout as I feel the blood being pulled away from my head by the terrible g-forces. Another explosion rocks the hovercraft and I see the front end of the fuselage where the pilots sit completley break away from the hull. The terrible spinning becomes even worse.

"We're gonna die! We're gonna die!" I hear the loadmaster cry out as he desperately clings to a waving cargo strap for dear life.

"We're not gonna die!" I try to scream back to calm him down. "We're not…gonna…." Just a few moments before we slam into the earth, I feel something crash into the side of my head. Everything goes black as I lose consciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

I sprint through the darkened woods as fast as I can, not slowing down even as the dense brush and jagged branches slice into my arms and legs.

_"This is it. I'm finished. I'm not going to put up with this anymore…I CAN'T put up with this anymore…."_ My mother has gone too far this time, and as far as I'm concerned, she and I will never share the same home again. All I have is the clothes on my back and the precious item that I grabbed from its shelf as I flew out the door, despite my mother's shrieking warnings. Not only is it the only possession that I truly treasure, but it is at least a two day trek through the forest by foot to reach the main city of District 7 and I will desperately need it along the journey.

I come to a break in the trees. Trickling through the forest floor is a small stream, reflecting white moonlight from the tranquil sky. It is only when I see the cool, clear water do I realize that my throat is burning with thirst. I immediately drop to my hands and knees and dunk my head underneath the clear, running surface. I suck down gulp after gulp before I finally have my fill and pull my head from under the water. My long, unkempt hair sends a shower of droplets streaming into the low-hanging leaves behind me. Slowly, I dip my hands back into the stream and begin to run the cool liquid like a balm over the rising welt on my cheek. It does little to calm the pain, but it is enough for now.

I must truly be a sight to behold at this moment: an angry, scared girl of only seventeen, alone in the center of some of the wildest wilderness in Panem. It's the middle of the night, and I only have a hatchet to protect me. I should be terrified, but I know in my heart that a hatchet is all I really need.

As I collapse backwards onto a patch of moss next the stream, my thoughts race back to the incident that may be the last contact I ever have with my parents. I love them from the bottom of heart, but if I stay there with them alone in the middle of nowhere, I will wither and die like a tree robbed of the sun.

For the past few months, I've been begging my mother to let me leave the sanctuary she and my father built to isolate themselves from the world. My father, a quiet man with a good heart, left civilization because it never really had anything to offer him. All he required was his woods, the silent calm of a clear night sky, the twists of home dried tobacco he kept in a box over the fireplace, and the companionship of his wife and daughter. My mother, on the other hand, fled humanity because other people never did anything except try to rob her of everything she ever had: her freedom, her family, and even _her life_.

The night terrors and flash backs to the torture she felt at the hands of tyrannical strangers, once so horrifying and confusing to me, had finally become so commonplace that by the time I reached my teens, I felt more annoyance than pity. It seemed that my presence was the only thing in the world that could ever give Johanna Mason any respite from her traumatic memories of the Hunger Games and the Revolution. So, instead of growing up safe in her arms, I grew up keeping her safe in mine.

While most children climb into bed with their parents after a nightmare for comfort, in my childhood home, it was the exact opposite. Over the years, I lost count of the times by bedroom door would fly open and I would feel her climb into bed with me. At first, I would dutifully crawl over and hug her tight until her tears subsided, but finally, I just pretended not to wake up anymore.

One particularly horrible night, I couldn't take it another second. As I watched my mother begin to cry for no reason while simultaneously reaching for a bottle of homemade liquor that she always kept at the ready in a cupboard over the sink, I at last summoned the courage to utter a word that has passed through my mind a thousand times before…

"No," I say with newfound conviction as I pull away from my mother's extended arms. She looks back at my face with a mix of betrayal and confusion.

"What?" she gasps through a pained expression.

"No, Mother. I was not put on this planet solely to comfort you. You may love living in this little world that you've built for yourself, but it's not the world I built for me. Tomorrow, I'm leaving and unless you realize that truth, I'm never coming back."

My mother's tears grow worse. I look over to my father, sitting in his chair next to the fireplace with his pipe. He silently gazes over to me with a pair of eyes that show a quiet wisdom that words do not need to express. Though it's killing him, I know he stands with me.

"Olivia," my mother stammers as the tears in her eyes grow worse and worse. "There is nothing out there! Nothing except liars, thieves, and those who would watch you die for their own sick gratification and entertainment!"

"That's not true, Mom!" I shout with strength I never knew I possessed. "I know that you've suffered horrible things in your life, but that's in the past. There has to be some good out there, and I'll never find it rotting here alone!"

"But you're not alone!" she shouts over the top of my pleas. "We're together and we're happy…"

"YOU'RE HAPPY!" I shout as my eyes begin to tear up as well. "You're happy but I'm slowly suffocating. I have to know what life is like outside of this damn forest."

"You want to know what the world is like?" she says as her eyes change her expression from sorrow to anger. "This is what the world is like you stupid, ignorant girl!" She raises her hand and slaps me hard across the face. Instantly, she realizes what she has done and jumps backward away from me. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry…" she says trying to come close to me again, but I step away once more for the last time.

I begin to cry, but not because of the physical pain. The sense of betrayal I feel is enough to drive me over the edge. Instantly, I turn around and charge straight for the door, pausing only long enough to grab my hatchet before sprinting out into the night.

Now, I find myself here, staring up at the night sky, about to embark upon a new life. I do not know where it will take me or how it will end. All I know is that it will be my own…

With all the effort I can muster, I force my eyes open. I find myself staring up at the wide open empty sky, it's pristine blue hue marred with sporadic black clouds of acrid smoke. My head is spinning as I try to recollect what exactly has led me here.

Slowly, it comes back to me: the aide drop, the missile attack, the explosions, the horrible spinning…_then impact and blackness._ My head still throbs where I felt the blow that knocked me out. Cautiously, I reach my hand up to the side of my helmet, terrified at what damage I might find. My fingertips feel a piece of jagged metal, several inches long, jutting out from the side of my cranium. Shocked, I bolt upward without thinking, unbuckle my chinstrap, and rip the helmet off my head. I quickly scan the inside of the lining and to my amazement, nothing seems to have penetrated. My hand shoots up the side of my skull, and though it's still tender to the touch, I don't feel any kind of blood or open wound. My protective gear did its job.

_"THAT is why we wear that,"_ I think to myself with a relieved grin. I toss my now useless helmet aside and push myself up to my feet. Though my legs still feel a little rubbery, I manage to stand and take a few cautious steps. It's at that moment, that I finally take stock of the horrible carnage around me. The burning remains of the hovercraft lie in ruins in all directions. The main bulk of the wreckage is behind me, but another large chunk landed about fifty yards to my left. Sadly, it looks to be the cockpit where the pilots were sitting.

_"No one could have survived crashing in that,"_ passes through my thoughts. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure how I survived. I guess someone up there likes me.

I stumble forward toward a huge sand dune about two hundred yards away from the crash site. It's my hope that it will at least provide a better view of the area we went down in. I know I must be close to the Binwaldi Refugee Camp, but my rifle is nowhere to be found, and is probably lost forever under the tons of twisted, scorched metal that once made up the transport. Despite my first impressions from the air, I don't feel very secure going to Binwaldi without it. I'm still not sure it wasn't one of them that shot us down. All I have left is my hatchet, which still clings loyally to my belt like an old friend.

"Sergeant Major!" I hear a voice cry out from behind the destroyed cockpit. I turn around to see the loadmaster, covered with black soot, stumble out and wave his arms at me. He's stripped off his body armor and helmet and wears nothing but the tattered and scorched remains of his fatigues. I immediately infer that it's a miracle he wasn't burned to a crisp in the crash.

"Are you alright?" I manage to shout back in between gasps and hacking coughs.

"My leg's pretty banged up he says limping along, but I can move. Both pilots are dead, I already checked."

_"Son of a bitch,"_ I think as my heart drops like a stone in my chest. I don't care how much action I see or how many good men and women I lose, each one still feels like family. That fact that this is a "humanitarian" mission where our higher told us we wouldn't face any real resistance makes it even more painful.

_"This is why you send more than one battalion, Sir,"_ I think as I survey the cost of this blunder. The Ministry of Defense failed to do its homework and sent us headlong into the jaws of an enemy that was far better equipped and far more dangerous than any of them ever expected.

"Alright," I say shouting to the loadmaster who's less than twenty yards away from me now. "We'll send a team back from JOB Mariner to recover the remains of the pilots, but right now we have to get out of…"

At that moment, bullets from a burst of automatic weapons fire kick up sand in all directions and I stare in horror as I see his chest ripped apart in front of my eyes. Instinctually, I dive for cover behind a pile of wreckage as a second burst meant for me slices through the air and ricochets off the debris with a cacophony of high pitched dings and whistles.

I carefully look around the edge of my cover, hoping beyond hope that the loadmaster is still alive, but as I catch a glimpse of his pale face and wide, fixed gaze, I know he's gone.

" !" I curse out loudly. The gunshots came from the top of the same sand dune that I was mindlessly walking to just a few minutes before. If it wasn't for the loadmaster distracting me, it would probably be my corpse lying in the sand instead of his. I curse myself again as I realize that in my daze I forgot a very simple truth: whoever shot us down is still here and is still dangerous. A sharp pang of guilt rockets through my gut as I realize that if I had been more cautious, that if I had the sense to warn him, then the loadmaster could still be alive. However, there's no time for "what ifs" right now. All that matters is I have to stay alive and find a way to get out of here.

Another burst of rapid fire cuts through the air a few inches above of my head to let me know the fighters have not forgotten about me. I see their fierce silhouettes crest over the top of the dune and charge straight down at me. They are heavily armed with rifles and machine guns and are dressed in the same fatigues and headscarves that I recognize from the news broadcasts and intelligence reports.

"_It's the militia…"_

They scream and yell in a strange language that I can't understand. If I try to run, I'm probably dead, but if I stay here and wait for them to close with me, then I'm_ definitely_ dead.

_"Well, that narrows down the choices…"_ I think as I take a deep breath, mutter a quick prayer, and then leap out from behind my cover, sprinting as hard as I can across the desert. I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm running to. I just know I can't stay here.

I leap wildly to the left and to the right, trying to dodge the hails of bullets that kick up clouds of dirt around my boots. I can still hear the wild screams of the enemy closing in behind me. They've tasted blood today, and they're thirsty for more.

I look over my shoulder and see that they're fast closing the distance with me. The shock of seeing them so close causes me to hesitate for a split second_….a split second that costs me dearly._

A bullet slams into the back plate of my body armor. Though my vest stops the projectile from penetrating, I still feel the entire force of the round's impact and tumble into the ground with the feeling that a giant took a full swing at me with a sledgehammer.

As my pounding heart rate peaks, my head begins to spin again. I use every ounce of strength I have left to crawl desperately over the sand, but soon realize that it's hopeless. I reach down and feel my hatchet. Though I know I will die, I hope that I'll be able to take a few of them with me on the way out. Images of my mother and father, Clint, and Aurora all flash through my mind. I can't believe that I'll never see them again, and that I will meet my end here, alone on the burning sands of a strange and foreign shore.

I roll over and try to force myself to my feet, but my legs finally give out. I lay propped up on my side, watching my attackers continue to surge forward towards me. They've stopped firing and I actually think they're foolish enough to try to take me alive.

"Alright, you sons of …_let's do this!_" I spit out through my gritted teeth.

Suddenly, another burst of automatic weapons fire rings out. For a second, I think that they've started firing again, but then I realize that the sound is coming from _behind _me. There's more yelling and screaming that I can't make out as the spinning in my head grows worse and worse. I see the militia fighters halt their advance and start to fire wildly at someone or something I cannot see. Then, I start to hear the sounds of people approaching from the rear. I try to turn to face the newcomers to the fight, but it's too much. Once again, everything goes black and I collapse in a heap on the burning hot sand.


	13. Chapter 13

The journey from my parent's cabin to the central city of District 7 took much longer than I expected. I lived only on the things I could forage from the woods and a few squirrels I was able to trap. Finally, after endless hours of slicing my way through the dense forest, I arrive at the outskirts of the city in the middle of the night. I'm not worried because I know that the authorities won't be looking for me. My mother never trusted the police even after the new found freedom of the Revolution. Besides, after my seventeenth birthday a few weeks ago, there's no way that anyone could force me to go back anyway.

Finally, I emerge from the undergrowth into the artificially lit streets of the city. The entire population is asleep in their beds and no businesses are open. The journey has left me totally exhausted and starving. I was hoping to find a bite to eat when I arrived, but soon remember that I have no money anyway, so it doesn't matter.

Aimlessly, I wander the streets, having no idea what I will do or where I will go. Then, after an hour searching, I see one building with its lights still shining brightly. The sign above the door reads "United Districts of Panem Defense Forces Recruiting Station: District 7," and there is a large cardboard cutout of a soldier in full combat gear with the words "Not only for your future, but for Panem's" written across the figure's chest in big bold letters.

I am drawn to the light like a moth to a flame. It's as if some unseen force within me is telling me to enter. Slowly, I approach the doors. Just before I reach for the handle, I catch the reflection of myself in the glass.The truth is not pretty, but obvious: _I look deranged._ My clothes are dirty and torn, my hair is matted and in knots, and my face is covered with nicks and scratches from the branches and brush I've been running through for almost three days. However, the unseen force continues to push me forward and I step inside.

At first, I see no one. There is nothing but a desk and a few empty chairs. Patriotic signs and posters dot the walls. I look around at a stack of brochures listing the various jobs a new recruit can apply for. One of them catches my eye in particular. It is of a young soldier, leading a squad of other warriors to the top of hill. He looks back over his shoulder, rifle held high in the air, as he urges the others forward. Beneath the picture is one simple phrase:

_"Join the Infantry and Lead the Way."_

"Hello?" I finally call out hoping that someone hears me.

Suddenly, a staff sergeant in black fatigues appears from a back room. At first, his eyes grow wide as he sees the state I'm in. My first instinct when I see his reaction is to run right back out the door.

"_He'll probably just call the police and have me hauled away,"_ I think with trepidation, but still, I somehow hold firm. Then, the sergeant's face softens.

"When was the last time you had something to eat?" he asks in a kind tone that calms me down a little.

"Not in awhile…" I whisper back embarrassed.

"Sit down, please," he says motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk. I'm still not entirely unconvinced that he won't call the police, but I do as he says before he disappears again into the back room.

He returns a few minutes later with a sandwich and a cup of water that he sets down in front of me. At first, I'm afraid to take the food, but then he orders me to.

"Please, eat," he says before he takes a seat across from me. He doesn't have to ask again. I reach forward and begin to devour it. He lets me finish my meal and take a few sips of water before speaking again. "So, what can I do for you?" To this day, I have no idea why I said what comes out of my mouth next.

"I want to join the Defense Forces." The military was never in my plans, but somehow, it just seems right…_and I haven't regretted it since._

"Well, I can certainly help you with that," he says reaching into his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. "How old are you?" he asks.

"Seventeen," I reply.

"Do you have proof of that?"

"No…" I whisper a bit crestfallen.

"That's alright, we can help you get the documents you need."

"What's your name?"

"Olivia Sawbleyde."

"It's very nice to meet you, Olivia," he says reaching out his hand. Over the next hour, he helps me fill out the enlistment forms and arranges a place for me to stay. Somehow, I trust this man more than I do myself right now. He seems to have all the answers.

"Your first stop will be the in-processing center in District 6, and then you'll go straight to basic training. After ten weeks, you'll be a full soldier, and then receive orders for your first duty assignment."

"Thank you," is all I manage to say as he reaches out his hand again.

"It's my job, Olivia. You'll be fine…_I see something special in you already_." He goes over to a cabinet on the wall and pulls out a clean t-shirt with a Defense Forces logo on it and a small backpack. "You can have these. You can put whatever personal effects you have in the bag when you travel."

I reach into my jacket and pull out my hatchet.

"That won't be necessary," I say with a smile. "This is the only thing I have." The sergeant's eyes grow wide again but soon he just laughs and says

"I'm afraid you can't take that with you to basic."

I lean forward and stare right back at him.

"I won't give it up. I need this…_it keeps me safe_."

Instead of getting angry, he just plops back in his chair and pulls out a small card from his desk. He scribbles a name and address on it and then hands it to me.

"Let me hold on to it for you. When you reach for first assignment, call me and I'll make sure you get it back." Reluctantly, I had over my precious weapon into his waiting hands, but the kindness he has shown me so far is enough to earn my trust.

Four months later, a newly minted Private Sawbleyde wrote to the address on the card. He kept his word and I've never been separated from that hatchet since…

I bolt awake and realize I'm no longer on the barren plain surrounded by hovercraft wreckage. Instead, I'm resting on the soft sand floor of a tent. The colored, earth-toned canvas walls bellow softly in the desert breeze and bright morning sunlight filters through the front door flap. The spinning in my head is gone, but I have no idea how long I've been unconscious. It could be only hours…or _maybe it could be days._

Someone has carried me here and propped me against the wooden support beam in the center of the tent. My burned and shattered body armor has been stripped away and I'm dressed only in my black t-shirt, fatigue bottoms, and boots. _Something isn't right._ I desperately reach down to my belt. Then, my heart drops as I realize the dearest loss of all…_my hatchet is gone. _

My first thought is that I am a prisoner, however, my hands and feet remain unbound. A rush of hope passes through me as I realize that my communicuff is still firmly attached to my wrist, but soon even that disappears as I see that the crash has smashed it almost beyond recognition and the device is completely inoperative.

"Dammit," I mutter aloud as I realize my stay here could be much longer than I hoped for.

Suddenly, I feel eyes watching me. I spin around and see that I am not alone in here. A field of dark eyes gazes at me with a mix of fear and wonder. I cannot see their faces because every one of them is hidden behind a mutely colored veil. A dozen women clothed head to toe in loose robes that cover every inch of their body silently watch every move I make as I stare straight back at them. Instantly, I sense that they're not a threat. They seem far too meek and frightened for that, and if they meant me harm, they certainly already had the chance while I slept.

One woman who appears to be the head of this group steps forward. I can tell she's older and wiser just from the way she carries herself. Also, her eyes betray a measure of experience that can only be gained from long years of struggle. It is something that I recognize from the face of my mother.

The leader produces a small plate of lentils and a tiny loaf of bread. It is only then that I realize I also have no idea how long it's been since the last time I ate and my stomach is screaming for sustenance. With both grace and caution, I step forward and take the food from her hands. As I begin eat, I think that though no person in Panem today would ever call it a decent meal, _these people are starving._ To spare even the slightest of morsels to feed an enemy is an act of kindness that takes my breath away. Even though I'm afraid that someone outside the tent will hear that I'm awake, I cannot help but whisper

"_Thank you."_ Even though she doesn't comprehend my words, the slight nod of her covered head and the look in her eyes says that she understands.

Sadly, I wish that these people were harsh and uncaring. I wish that I was tied up and mal-treated. It would make what I have to do now far easier. It is my duty to escape…_by any means necessary._

Perhaps my act of taking the food has set the other women at ease. A few of them start to edge closer to me, but I motion for them to get back. Confused, one of them starts speaking to me in their language. I immediately raise my finger over my mouth, which quiets her. Then, I sneak to the door and carefully peek outside. The position of the sun in the sky tells me that it is mid-morning.

"_So, I've been out at least twenty-four hours,"_ I think to myself. "That's plenty of time for Bixby to organize a rescue operation…_if he thinks there's still someone alive to rescue._ Even if our reconnaissance found the debris field, it would be very easy for them to assume that everyone aboard the transport was lost. Plus, even if they did try to mount a rescue, they'll have no idea where I've been taken.

"_Hell, even I don't know where I've been taken."_

Quickly, I realize that making a break for the open desert is my best option. All I have to do is head north and I'll eventually hit the sea. Then, I can try to make some kind of signal. European intelligence regularly sends aerial patrols along the coastline.

Suddenly, a figure appears out of the corner of my eye. He is not dressed in the same fatigues that the other militia fighters were wearing and his headscarf doesn't hide his face, but he is still armed. I immediately notice the assault rifle he carries is an ancient antique. The bluing on the metal is almost completely worn off and the wooden stock and hand guards are pockmarked with the dings and scratches of many generations of battles. It's definitely antiquated and obsolete, but still dangerous all the same. I'm slowly calculating the best way to take him down when my eyes suddenly move to his waist. Tucked into his belt is _my hatchet._

"_Now, it's personal…"_

He doesn't notice me observing him as he casually paces back and forth in front of my tent.

"Some guard this guy is," I whisper to myself.

The tent I'm in seems to be pitched in the middle of a large desert encampment. These people must be a bedouin tribe, moving to wherever they can find enough food and water to survive.

My guard suddenly stops and turns his back to me, and I see my chance. I charge forward into the daylight and deliver a swift side-kick across the back of his knees. They buckle instantly, sending him down to the ground in a heap. In one fluid sequence, I strike to his face, twist his head so that our gazes lock, and then grab my hatchet from his belt. I tower over him, and look my opponent straight in the face.

"I think this belongs to me," I say as he stares up at me in shocked terror. As I raise my weapon over my head to deliver the death blow, I hear a terrible sound behind me…_it is the sound of an assault rifle bolt cocking._

I freeze, knowing that my escape attempt has come to quick and abrupt end. I wince as I prepare for the hail of bullets that will end my life, but nothing comes. Instead, I only hear a desperate plea

"Please, do not harm him."

Without releasing my captive, I slowly turn around. Standing before me is a striking man who looks to be about my age, but with dark bronzed skin and a long wild beard. He appears to be a person of some importance because his flowing robes are bright white rather than the muted, plain colors of the other individuals I have seen.

I still hold my hatchet over the guard's head ready to strike at any moment, but now that it seems I have found someone I can actually talk to, I decide I have nothing to lose.

"Why shouldn't I harm him? You attacked me after all."

"We did not attack you," the man in white says to me. "We saved you."

"Then who the hell shot down my hovercraft?" I shout angrily.

"The same band of thieves and braggarts who hold my people hostage and attempt to conquer us by stealing every bit of food from our children's mouths. The same murderers who killed my father as he valiantly attempted to win our freedom, forcing me to take over the tribe before it was my time…and the same pirates _who you have been sent to eradicate._ I give you my solemn word, that you and I are not enemies." As a gesture of faith, he lowers his rifle down to his side. "Now please, let Abdul go. As I said, he never meant you any harm."

"Then why was he guarding me?" I ask still very skeptical.

"I ordered him to make sure no one bothered you while you recovered from your injuries. You seem to be the only thing that people here are speaking of, and some think it is too dangerous to keep you here. However, I am Sheik and I have final say in the matter. You are under our protection for as long as needed.

We placed you in the women's tent so that you could rest. My mother promised to care for you."

Suddenly, I realize who the wise woman was that gave me the food: the widow of the fallen chief and mother of the current tribal leader. I look down at the man in my grip still frozen with terror. I finally decide to let him go. Still trembling, he immediately gets to his feet and runs behind his leader for safety. They exchange a few words in their native language before Abdul disappears between two tents with his tail between his legs.

"What is your name?" I ask firmly.

"Ibn Mufaz Ibn Mustafa Ibn Hanbal Ibn Al-Khalid," the man in white responds proudly. The look on my face must tip him off that I am not used to such grandiose titles. He immediately adds, "However, you can call me Khalid."

"Well Khalid," I say still keeping my guard up. "Mind telling me how you learned English? Doesn't seem to be of much use out here."

"Before this time of troubles, we were a tribe of merchants, transporting wares from deep within the continent northward to the coast. We sold to many customers, including those who spoke your language. It was, _in fact_, very useful."

"I stand corrected then….In that case, I just have one more question."

"And that is?"

"Why did you try to save me?"

"A scouting party of mine was keeping an eye on the pirates near the refugee camp. We can never be sure when they could come to raid us. After you were shot from the sky, they saw you were still alive and that the fighters were coming to capture you."

"Why would they want to capture me?" I ask, almost too afraid to find out the answer.

"The pirates trade in _many_ things. When they saw you were a female and so different from our own women, they realized they could fetch a very high price for you…or just keep you for their own leaders' pleasure. If you resisted, they would have killed you.

It is our sacred duty to protect helpless women, even those whom we have never met. It is the Code of Honor our tribe lives by."

"I can take care of myself!" I shout back angrily at the insinuation that I somehow require their protection, but I immediately realize how ridiculous it must sound considering the state they found me in.

"As you wish…" he says trailing off. "You are not a captive to us. If you desire to fend for yourself in the desert, we will not stop you, but you must understand that danger is everywhere."

"I'm used to danger," I say with stone-cold resolve. He looks at me with his dark, piercing eyes. There is a nobility in him that I have never seen before, and even though I have no reason to trust him, I immediately do. I guess I'm just a sucker for people who show me kindness.

"Then may I ask the name of the woman who has so little fear?" he replies. Somehow after everything he has done for me, exchanging formalities just wouldn't seem right.

"You can call me Hatchet."

"I have never heard this name before," Khalid says somewhat surprised.

"That's because it belongs to me." Somehow, I think that my spirit is starting to win him over.

"Very well, Hatchet," he says with a grin. "Go with God and may he keep you safe on your travels…"

At that moment, machine gun fire echoes through the entire camp. Other men appear from inside their tents with weapons, but the guns are as old and obsolete as the ones that Abdul and Khalid possess. From inside the shelters, I hear terrified screams of dozens of other women and children.

I look out into the desert and see a cloud of dust fast approaching. Khalid sees it as well, but stands with a stoic bravery that adds to my growing respect.

"Who's shooting at us?" I ask already knowing the answer.

"_Those_ are the ones who attacked you."


	14. Chapter 14

The dust trail in the distance grows closer and closer…_rapidly_. As Khalid's men take up rudimentary defensive positions around the village, I run over to a sand dune to get a better view of our attackers. Squinting as hard as I can against the bright sun, I'm able to make out a dingy white truck about five hundred yards away. The back is loaded with about six fighters and one more militiaman stands in the center of the bed manning a heavy machine gun.

Looking around the village, I see that Khalid's fighters are brave, but foolish. Each of the men stands boldly next to his own tent, ready to face down the enemy with assault rifle blazing. However, any real soldier looking at their tactics can instantly tell that they will be cut to pieces by the militia's machine gunner before they even have a chance to fight back.

_"No, wonder these guys are losing this war,"_ I think to myself angrily. _"There's no reason for them to die. They outnumber the enemy almost four to one!"_

I run down from the sand dune and try desperately to organize Khalid's men into some kind of effective group defense.

"You!" I say shouting at the man nearest to me. "Get over behind this sand dune!" He looks back with a mix of annoyance and confusion. I try acting out what I want him to do to get over the language barrier. "You, get down…put your rifle on the dune…" The exercise feels desperate and ridiculous at the same time. I get no response from him and the enemy grows ever closer.

Another burst of heavy machine gun fire slices through a tent on the outskirts of the encampment. I hear screams of terror from inside, but the bullets impact too high up on the walls to have hurt anyone standing inside. Still, the truck is now less than three hundred yards away. I run over to another one of Khalid's men and try to repeat my instructions, but his hand waves me away like a I'm a troublesome child.

"What is wrong with you people!" I start screaming. "Do you want to die?" Suddenly, I feel a firm hand grip my arm. I turn around to see Khalid's exasperated face.

"Please, Khalid," I try to reason with him. "Tell your men to listen to me."

"You must go back into the women's tent," he says half shouting and half begging. "We will fight off these bandits."

"I can help you," I say frustrated beyond all recognition. "Give me a rifle!"

"That's not possible," he says. I look out to see the truck has screeched to a halt a hundred yards from the edge of the tents. The machine gunner in the back continues to fire sporadic bursts while the fighters in the back dismount and begin running toward the village. They spread out to cause the maximum amount of chaos. Khalid's men open fire, but to no effect. "Go into the women's tent. You are under our protection which means you must honor our customs. A woman must never partake in bloodshed. It is against our code."

"Bullsh.t!" I scream out as I wrench my arm out of his grasp. "I'm a soldier which means I'm gonna fight!"

"Your people may consider you a soldier, but _we _do not. My men will not fight alongside a female, which means both you and many more will die unnecessarily. Go into the tent. If you must protect someone, protect the women." One of Khalid's men screams as a militia bullet tears through his leg. As two others drag him back to the safety of the tents, the others put up a desperate but hopeless defense. I can tell arguing with Khalid will only serve to delay his response to this attack even further. Without any more resistance, I do as he says.

"Fine, watch your tribe die then!" I say as I sprint towards the women's tent. As I reach the flap, I'm sickened that I will not be able to repay these people for saving my life by saving theirs in kind. When I'm safely inside, Khalid finally starts to rally his troops, but I can see they are still badly outmatched by the enemy firepower.

Inside, the dozen women who cared for me are huddled in a corner. Khalid's mother does what she can to calm them, but they still scream and shout in panic.

"Get away from the walls!" I shout to them. They all look to me, but I can tell they don't understand. "Get away from the walls, bullets can come through them and hit you. Lay down on the ground." I beckon them to come closer to me and start acting out what I want them to do. Thankfully, they finally understand and press themselves flat against the sand.

Once, I'm sure they're all safe, I turn my attention back to the battle outside. I stick my head out of the door and try to get a feel for what's going on. The dismounted militia members have fanned out through the tents and have started to engage Khalid's men in hand to hand combat. Thankfully, my new friends seem to be proficient enough to hold their own man to man, but the machine gunner and the truck still prevent them from gaining any real initiative. Every time they start to rally to push the fighters out, the machine gunner drives them back with targeted bursts. Throughout the entire village, I hear nothing but screams of pain and agony as good man after good man is injured or killed.

I grit my teeth with rage and grip the hickory handle of my hatchet so hard my knuckles turn white. I still cannot believe I'm letting this happen. It isn't right…_it isn't right._

Suddenly, one of Khalid's men appears from around the corner of the nearest tent. He is locked in a struggle with a militia fighter a full head taller than him. They're less than ten yards away from the entrance to the women's tent. I hear an engine rev and see the truck with the machine gun zoom around behind them. The machine gunner takes a perfect bead on the pair.

From the bed of the truck, he yells something to his dismount who immediately knocks Khalid's man to the ground with his giant fist before backing away to give the automatic weapon the chance to deliver the death strike. The blow has knocked Khalid's man senseless. He is an easy target as he slowly picks himself to his feet, and I can tell that in just a second, the machine gun will slice him to pieces.

"_ this. It's time to get some!" _My feet are running forward before my brain can tell them to move. After years of training, my body knows what to do without me having to ask. I slam into Khalid's man, knocking him safely to the sand just as a burst of heavy machine gun bullets cuts through the air right where he was standing. I push him towards a gap between two tents, spin around, and charge straight for the dismounted militiaman. He is so shocked at the sight of a blonde, fair-skinned woman appearing from nowhere, that he freezes just long enough for me to close the distance between us. By the time he begins to raise his rifle, it's already too late.

My left hand knocks his weapon to the dirt while the hatchet in my right slices it's razor sharp edge across his belly, instantly spilling his intestines onto the sand at his feet. He looks down in horror, but doesn't have long to consider his plight. I slash back around, planting the axe-head into his right temple. As the newly minted corpse collapses to the ground, I rip my hatchet out of its skull and tuck forward just a burst machine gun fire slices the air around me. I reach out and grab the fallen man's assault rifle and keep rolling back to my feet. I dash towards the truck, weaving left and right so the gunner can't get a good shot.

When I'm only about ten yards away, I let my favorite weapon fly. The hatchet spins end over end through the air before finding its target. It buries itself between the machine gunner's eyes with the sickening crunch of smashing bone.

The driver of the truck is in too much shock to move as I leap into the air and land in a crouch on the hood. He tenses and grips the steering wheel as I kneel down and point the muzzle of my assault rifle straight at him. Even though I can't see most of his face behind his head scarf, I can tell from his expression that he is frozen with fear. I lean forward, squeeze the trigger, and fire a burst straight through the windshield, dispatching the driver in a hail of merciless lead.

When he's dead, I jump to my feet, run over the roof of the cab, and leap into the bed. I throw the assault rifle to the ground because I don't need it anymore…._I have the machine gun._

"_This is for my men on the hovercraft, you sons of ,"_ I say as my hand racks the charging handle and finds the trigger. I spin the barrel of the heavy weapon around on its stand and take aim at the militia member nearest to me. He's just turned a corner and still doesn't realize that his friends in the truck are no longer breathing. By the time he realizes that I now have the superior firepower, I'm already well on my way to turning him into a cloud of pink mist and a few chunks of meat with a deafening volley.

With the machine gun in my hands, Khalid's men rapidly take the advantage.. The militiamen are driven out of the interior of the encampment where one by one I terminate them with _extreme prejudice. _I feel my pulse quicken as the metal frame of the truck shakes with each slow thud of a firing round.

Finally, there is only one enemy left. He runs out directly in front of me and I aim right at his head. He and I both hear Khalid's fighters maneuvering closer and closer. I pause, wanting him to take a good look at my face. Just yesterday, this pirate was trying to make me a slave, but now, _I will have the last laugh. _

Just as Khalid and the rest of his forces round the corner of tents, I open fire, spewing a hot stream of slugs directly into the militiaman. By the time I release the trigger, there's not enough left of the pirate for a decent burial.

Khalid and the other tribesmen look on in total shock at the carnage I have wrought as I casually pull my hatchet from the cranium of the dead machine gunner and hop down from the back of the truck. I flick the blood from the weapon with a quick turn of my wrist and begin to walk towards them.

"What?" I say defiantly as I reach down to my right pants pocket. I sigh with relief as I feel my leather pouch is still there. I immediately pull it out and look inside.

"_Dammit! I'm down to my last pinch."_ I think as I gather up the last bundle of tobacco leaves between my fingers and shove them into my cheek. Then I casually march straight up to Khalid and put my index finger right in his chest. His men literally gasp at the audacity. "That is why you should have had your men listen to me," I say moving my finger to the scattered remains of the vaporized militiaman. I then spit on the sand right next to him. The group standing behind the sheik all jump backwards but Khalid stands perfectly still.

I then push straight past him and walk through the middle of the stunned crowd of twenty men. They scatter like leaves in the wind as I head back towards the women's tent.

"They must make women different in your country," Khalid finally calls after me when his senses return, but I do not turn around to face him. Instead, I just keep walking, return my hatchet to its rightful place on my belt, and tersely reply

"No, they just don't stand in our way."


	15. Chapter 15

The sun slowly rises to the east of the bedouin camp. I solemnly sit on the same sand dune near the women's tent that I stood on before yesterday's battle. Contemplatively, I run my fingers up and down the assault rifle I picked up from the corpse of a fallen militiaman. I noticed that carrying a weapon is a sign of status here. It is an obvert symbol that one is able to defend oneself. The people here no longer try to hide me away or ignore me because I am woman. Perhaps my actions earned the respect of Khalid's men…or more likely they're just too afraid to say anything that I could take offense to. Either way, I am a now someone that they just can't push aside.

Guilt racks me despite my conscious attempt to discount it. I look out at fourteen freshly dug graves in the sand a few dozen yards away from me. Soon, they will contain the remains of the six men of this tribe who died in the revenge attack waged against these selfless people for the simple act of saving me. The other graves came as a bit more of a shock.

The preparation for the funeral began yesterday evening and continued into the night. Apparently, it is tradition here that the dead must be buried less than twenty-fours from when they passed or else they will not reach paradise. That, I could understand easily enough, but as soon as the bereaved family members of the fallen had finished with their sad task of digging the graves they began work on the eight more right next to the final resting places of their loved ones. Soon, I realized that those other tombs were being prepared for the bandits. I asked Khalid why such thought was being given to the enemy.

"Because," Khalid responded to my inquiry with the same plain innocence he used in explaining the logic behind my rescue, "It does not matter what sins these men have committed against us in this life. They have passed on to the next. Only God may judge them for what they did. We must give them the same rights as we would ask for. To deny them those would be just as sinful."

_"Such Nobility,"_ I think. _"In Panem, we would judge these people for not having the same simple disregard for others as we do. To us, our enemies do not deserve the same recognition or pity as we would give to our own. All we think about is what we gain from their destruction. Perhaps it these hardy and pious souls in Tripolitania who should judge us instead…"_

I hear the rhythmic chanting of the entire tribe over my shoulder. It's been going nonstop for the past hour, starting in darkness and continuing into the light of dawn. The fourteen sets of remains have been ritually cleaned by the women of the tribe and wrapped in pure white shrouds before being placed facing east into the rising sun.

Khalid leads the funeral service. He lies prostrated on a woven prayer mat directly adjacent to the bodies. The rest of the men of the camp pray behind him aligned in five perfect rows. The women also join in the prayers, but they are separated from the men out of custom and tradition. Khalid asked me if I wished to join them, but I feel I did not have a part in their ritual. It's not because I didn't value it, but because I thought my presence would somehow detract from the sanctity.

The chanting pauses for a few brief seconds. I look back and see Khalid rise to his feet and hold his arms out to his sides. Then, he drops back down to his knees and gently touches his forehead to the earth before beginning to pray aloud again. The other mourners behind him perfectly mirror his motions and words. I immediately get the idea that this ritual must be rehearsed here from a very young age…and perhaps funerals here are not uncommon occurrences.

Finally, as the sky turns from a deep orange to a dim blue, the chanting stops and a somber procession to the graves begins. The men all step forward to act as pallbearers and the women march behind them. As the whole somber parade passes by me, I climb to my feet. Though I cannot honor these people with their own ways, I can at least try to honor them with mine.

One by one, the corpses are lowered into the earth. Carefully, they are each placed on their side so that they may eternally face the east. Clearly, this is a sacred direction for them and they treat it with such reverence that I'm afraid to ask why.

At last, the shovels of sand are placed over the bodies, and with their task complete, the crowd of mourners dissipates before the tribe returns to life in the camp almost as if nothing had happened.

I turn to see Khalid approach me.

"Today, we will prepare to move the camp," he says with a pain in his voice the same as if he's just watched the home he grew up in burn to the ground. "It is no longer safe here. You are welcome to accompany us, Hatchet, or you may leave and go where you wish. The choice is yours."

Surely, the pirates have realized that their raiding party has not returned by now and will send even more fighters out to search for them. Even with my skills and training, I don't stand much of a chance on my own against a large group on terrain that I'm not in the least familiar with. However, if I join Khalid's tribe on its trek, my chance of any rescuers ever finding me diminishes even further. I roll the dilemma over and over in my mind before suddenly realizing there might be a third option.

"Would you please walk with me and show me the camp before you tear it down?" I ask trying to earn his trust. What I'm going to suggest will require his full support and faith in me. "I didn't get the chance to see it yesterday because all of you were preparing for the funeral."

Ever the impeccable host, Khalid instantly, if not somberly, agrees.

"As you wish."

I sling my new rifle over my back. It is simple gesture, but one recognized among people like us who must use one to fight to survive. Carrying a weapon in front of you means you're nervous, and ready for action. My act lets Khalid know that I believe I'm among friends.

We walk through the center of the camp. My heart breaks as I see the same painful sight repeated over and over again in front of me. Through each of the tent flaps, I see families sitting down to a meager breakfast. Parents sacrifice their own tiny ration to try to alleviate some of the hunger in the wide eyes and empty bellies of their children. I cannot help but picture Aurora in the faces of these young ones, gratefully accepting what little food there is because they realize that complaining would serve only to further add to the pain and desperation felt by their parents.

They all have grown old long before their time. Could it only have been a week ago that I saw my daughter sitting on the couch, watching television with a bowl of cereal, just being happy at being naive and innocent? Perhaps that's really what "civilization" is: _giving your children the ability to be young for as long as possible._ I make my choice right then and there. I won't just leave and forever live with the knowledge that I've left these people still suffering this harsh fate. It was my mission to help them, and I know that's exactly what I'm going to do.

As we approach the far end of the tents, I turn to Khalid and say

"How do you continue to live like this?" Instantly, I regret my choice words, but as I scan Khalid's face for signs of offense, all I can detect is desperation and sorrow.

"How else would we live?" He finally manages to say in almost a whisper. "This is our land. It is where we were born, and where we will one day be buried. It is all we pray for. We could leave, but where we would go? Is it better to starve is someone else's country or in your own?"

"_He's right, of course,"_ I think as I reflect on Panem's past struggles.

We reach the far end of the camp and stare out once again at the endless desert. There is a simple corral made of rope and a few tiny pieces of wood that contains a type of animal I have never seen before. They are tall and hairy, with long necks, elongated faces, and a large hump right in the middle of their back. I'm intimidated at first by their massive size, but Khalid immediately goes up to the nearest one and begins to rub it behind its large, sand-colored ears.

"My father taught me it is a sin to kill a camel…" he says trailing off. "They carry us and our homes through the desert, they give us wool, milk, and even life itself…but now, the old ways are forgotten, families are neglected, and the technology of foreigners is used to corrupt those who refuse to abandon their honor…"

"What?" I say cautiously, but Khalid just grins and beckons me over to him with a friendly wave. A little timidly, I approach the edge of the corral. Suddenly, Khalid grabs my hand and places it behind the beast's ear. The camel gives a satisfied grunt as I start to gently pet it. I cannot help but grin as the animal almost seems to smile with its huge mouth. It's kind of cute…despite the_ horrible_ smell of its steaming breath.

"When I was a boy, I was given the gift of a camel by my father when I turned ten. Arrogantly, one day I went out into the desert by myself. Within a few hours, I was so lost I could not find my way back home. After the afternoon sun roasted me to the point of death, I started to prepare to meet God, but my camel began to walk forward on its own. I was too tired to resist, so I let it carry me.

As if it was trying to save my life, it led me straight to a tiny oasis hidden among the sand dunes. It was almost as if he could tell I was suffering and needed help. I was able to stay alive there long enough for the men of the tribe to find me. It was that day I learned, it is very dangerous to wander if you do not know where you are going…I will not put my people through that. If we decide to act, we will act with purpose, and not just hope."

Slowly, I pull my hand away from the camel and look straight at Khalid's face.

"What if I could give you a purpose?" This peaks Khalid's attention.

"How so?"

"You know where the main militia camp is, don't you?"

"Yes, twenty miles to the north along the coast. It is heavily defended and the area is crawling with bandit patrols."

"My country sent me to help you free yourself of these criminals. At first, the only plan was to give you food, but I can see that will never be enough. The more we give you, the more they will come and try to fight you for it…._unless you fight back_."

"We have tried before and failed time after time. Now, we only fight to stay alive for another day."

"Well, maybe it's time you tried again," I say more than a little disdainfully.

"Do you have a family back in your homeland?" he asks bluntly.

"Yes, I have a husband and daughter." Suddenly, Khalid scoffs playfully.

"Somehow, I cannot picture a soldier as fierce as you was ever able to give birth to a child." I know he doesn't mean it impolitely. It is just different than everything else he has ever known. "Once a woman marries here, it is her place to care for her family. It is the man who protects it. " I find another grin creeping across my face.

"Let's just say that my place has never exactly been the home."

The sun has now climbed high enough in the sky that the heat is becoming noticeable. Khalid motions for me to follow him back to camp, but it is me who grabs his arm this time.

"I can't do it alone, Khalid," I say with a piercing look in my eyes. "I need your tribe's help to win, but I'm going to fight the pirates with or without it."

It's as if I've suddenly dropped a huge weight directly on his shoulders.

"Are you that eager to die? Go home! Go home to your husband and daughter and live the life that God has laid out for you. This is not your war. We never asked for your help."

"_It is now,"_ I say even more seriously. "You saved me. Your men died yesterday _because_ you saved me. That makes it personal. I'm not going anywhere without trying to repay the favor. Does that code of honor that's so important to you say anything about that?" I never expect Khalid's reaction. He throws back his head and laughs loud enough for the entire camp to hear him.

"Yes, actually it does." He calms down a little and smiles. "You are truly a warrior. I have never seen anyone wield a weapon with such fiery passion as you did with that," he says pointing down to the hatchet hanging from my belt. "It would be my honor to fight alongside you in glorious battle that my children and children's children will speak of around the evening fires for years to come, but as I've already said, _it's hopeless._ The weapons of the evil ones are too strong and my men will still not fight with you."

"You are their Sheik, aren't you?" I ask skeptically.

"Yes," he replies.

"Then _convince_ them."

"The odds are against it," Khalid says downtrodden.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," I say with a smirk. "The odds are _always_ in my favor."


	16. Chapter 16

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Khalid asks pensively. "You can still leave now and no one will ever think any less of your honor. You have already shown us you can fight."

"It's not me that I'm worried about," I reply with a cool assurance which seems to give him more confidence. He then pushes aside the flap.

_"After you,"_ he says with a mix of politeness and worry. I step into the tent only to be confronted with thirty of Khalid's senior men. They are the heads of the individual families and make up the tribe's ruling council. They will be the ones to decide on whether to adopt my plan, but as soon as they see me, they begin to yell and shout in the _angriest _words of their language. Some even jump to their feet and begin motioning with their hands like they were trying to shoo out a troublesome dog.

I hold firm, despite my instant apprehension. Khalid told me this would happen. The Council Tent is a place that _all_ women are forbidden to go, no matter their accomplishments. It doesn't help matters that I'm dressed in only a t-shirt and pants. With their concept of female, modesty, I might as well be naked.

Khalid shouts something in words that I do not understand. It seems to slightly quell the ruckus. After this, I'm forever in his debt now. He has put his status and position as sheik on the line, not only by advocating my proposal, but also for disregarding their traditions.

"Are you ready?" he asks me as the last man inside the tent finally takes a seat on the sand floor.

"Yes," I say walking in front of the crowd. "You'll translate for me, right?" I say trying to hide my nerves.

"Of course," he says with a reassuring smile. He takes his place behind me and I step forward to address the council.

_"How hard can this be? I've seen General Snow do it a million times." _I think as I take a deep breath. "I'm afraid we haven't had the chance to be properly introduced," I speak as Khalid restates my words behind me so that they can be understood by all. "My name is Command Sergeant Major Olivia Hightower of the United Districts of Panem Defense Forces. I am a leader in our military and am a veteran of many combat engagements." I notice that a few men in the crowd scoff as Khalid translates this late statement, but I keep pushing forward. "First, I wanted to thank all assembled here for saving my life two days ago when the pirates shot down my hovercraft. It seems that we both share a common enemy. That's the reason I'm here.

The mission that I have been given by my superiors is to assist the people of Tripolitania in any way to help resolve both the food crisis that you are facing and to eliminate the militia threat…both for you and for Panem's allies in Europe. The morning I was shot down, we were attempting to deliver a shipment of aid to the men, women, and children in the Binwaldi Refugee Camp when we were attacked. I'm sure that if the pirates had not committed such an overtly hostile act, we would have already been helping to deliver aid to you as well." More grumbling comes from the council. These aren't words I'm used to saying at all. I've never been very political. I clandestinely wipe the sweat from my nervous palms on my shirt, clear my throat loudly, and continue.

"_Anyways_…circumstances have seemed to change for both of us. I didn't realize that the situation here was this desperate, but after graciously being shown your camp, I believe that now is the time for action!" The men of the council begin to talk loudly both to each other and back at me. I raise my voice trying to speak over them and Khalid matches my volume and tone perfectly. "As I have said, I am an experienced combat leader. I was very impressed with what I saw yesterday when you defended the village, however, if you want to strike a blow at the militias that they will not be able to recover from, I respectfully request that I be allowed to lead you on an attack on the main pirate camp…"

_The room explodes. _All the men are on their feet shouting, screaming, and angrily pointing their fingers. Khalid steps forwards and tries to calm the melee as I attempt to hold firm next to him, but I'm terrified that I might have burned a bridge by my comments that cannot be rebuilt. Finally, an older man in the back shouts over the others and pushes his way to the front. He must be someone who commands great respect, because the others immediately back down and let him speak. He glares directly at me and begins to talk.

At first, Khalid doesn't say a word, but I quickly turn to him.

"I want to know exactly what he's saying…"

"Hatchet…"

"Exactly!" I shout at Khalid. He begins translating again.

"How dare do you come in to this place and presume to lecture us? You know nothing of who we are and what we have been through. You would be nothing more than bleached bones rotting in the desert or some criminal's…." Khalid hesitates but I flash him another angry look which forces him to say it, "…_whore_ if we had not rescued you from their grasp.

You can fight, yes, we have all seen it, but you are not a warrior! Only a man can understand what it takes to maintain one's honor and defend his home and tribe. Obviously, your supposed country does not understand this or else you would not be here.

We are not fools. We know of the outside world and that your army only came to this place because the weak and greedy in Europe begged you too. What did you think? That you would come here and magically the evil ones would throw down their weapons at the sight of your technology? They will continue to fight until everyone in Tripolitania bows before them.

We refuse to do that, even if it means running until the ends of the sands. To attack them is idiotic and means certain death. There is no honor in this…You do not understand because again, you are not a warrior…you are just a brawling thug looking for a fight that is not yours! Leave this place, and do not return!"

The room explodes again in shouts of support and cheers for the old man as he takes his seat back in the rear of the tent. I feel like I've been punched in the chest. I've offered help and been flatly disrespected in return. Khalid steps forward with shouts of his own. He is met by more jeers and taunting.

Rage begins rapidly building inside of me. I feel an angry burning behind my eyes so hot that I think they will pop out of my skull. These men are willing to do nothing and let their families starve supposedly to prove a point about honor. Suddenly, I realize that I'm not a diplomat, _I'm a soldier._ Maybe they'll understand actions instead of words.

The Council Tent is one of the biggest in the entire camp. The large, peaked roof is supported by a thick piece of timber right in the middle of the group of angry onlookers. Khalid now has his back to me as he continues to quiet the crowd to no avail.

Suddenly, a flash streaks past his head and my hatchet buries itself two inches deep in the wood of the support beam. The entire tent shakes a bit at the force of the blow. There is an audible gasp and the room falls completely silent as I push forward, angrily knocking shocked tribesmen out of the way until I reach my weapon. I wrench it free from the beam and walk straight back to Khalid at the front of the tent.

"I want you translate every word I say _exactly _as I say it? Do you understand?" I spit at him through gritted teeth.

"Olivia…" he says as if he's given up.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" I yell as my Sergeant Major voice comes shooting to the surface. Khalid can only nod in response.

"Good, _now that I have your attention_," I say turning back to the council. "I really don't give a shit what you think about me, or my country. Really, I don't. All I know is that I was given a mission to aide you and end the pirate threat, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Where I come from a mission is a sacred. That doesn't just go for military missions either. That goes for missions like loyalty, friendship…_and family._ I have a spouse and a child just like you and I consider it a mission to take care of them, no matter what the cost. From what I've seen, that doesn't seem to be the case here…" I've overtly insulted all of them, but the men are still too frozen with fear to say a word.

"Your wives and children are starving…_starving!_ Do you understand that? If you keep running deeper and deeper into the desert, you all will die…for what? So you can say that you never bowed down before your enemies? _News flash, assholes:_ you're bowing before them right now because you're letting them win. What do you think will happen when you all starve? _They win anyway._"

I see Khalid straighten up as if he wants to say something, but I raise a hand to stop him. "Yes, I know you've tried before. I know your old sheik fell against the pirates, but that's because you didn't have one thing you have now…_me._

Now, tomorrow morning, I'm going to the enemy camp. _That's with or without you._ You can follow, or stay the hell here and rot. Either way, I don't really give a damn. I just find it kinda funny that all you all brag about being big tough men…" Suddenly, I reach up and grab one of my breasts purely for shock value. Some of the men actually drop their gazes and blush with shame at the sight. _"…but this woman seems to have the only pair in this tent…"_

I await their response, but there is only stunned silence. Apparently, Khalid fulfilled his promise to translate exactly. Finally, the man who faced me down earlier slowly gets to his feet and walks back forward. I straighten my back and grip my hatchet firmly. For all I know, he's going to try to get them to kill me right here and now.

The man begins to speak and Khalid starts translating again.

"You will die if you go alone…"

"Probably," I reply callously, "but I'm not willing to just run away." There is a pause.

"Then…" the old man says stepping towards me, "I will go with you." He reaches up two fingers, kisses them, and then touches them to his forehead in a gesture of respect. "Perhaps, God has sent you here for a reason…" He addresses me as something I don't understand. The rest of the men in the tent burst out into laughter. I turn to Khalid confused.

"What did he call me?"

He smiles as he says, "he called you 'Warrior…_without a sword."_ Suddenly, I feel myself smile as well as I get the joke. I turn back to the old man.

"I like that title, because I don't need a sword…_I have this,_" I say brandishing my hatchet. Another man in the tent jumps to his feet and shouts

"I will as well!"

"Me too!"

"I will fight!" Man after man shouts out. Then, in an instant, they are all on their feet yelling something in unison.

"What are they saying?" I ask Khalid as I fast become overwhelmed by the newfound sense of enthusiasm and courage coursing through this place.

"They are saying, _'God is Great! May he guide our blades!_"

It feels like a million pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders as I realize that against all odds, I have convinced them to fight alongside me. Khalid runs up next to me and plants a grateful kiss on my cheek.

"You may have just saved all of us," he whispers into my ear as the rest of the men continue their chanting.

"No," I say grinning from ear to ear. I plant a firm hand on his shoulder and pull him close. "I think you just saved yourselves…"


	17. Chapter 17

It didn't take long to the plan the operation. Khalid's men already knew the terrain better than the most accurate maps available and I figured that it was best to keep the tactics as simple as possible. This fight doesn't need to be pretty, _just effective._

After the sun dips below the horizon, the men of the tribe begin to celebrate around a huge bonfire constructed in the center of the camp. The rhythmic sounds of drums, singing, and a strange type of flute fills the night air, however, I don't quite feel in a "celebratory" mood and return to the solitude of my sand dune to think.

I unsling my rifle, place it across my chest, and lay back to stare up at the night sky. The moon shines brightly, reflecting off the sand, and bathing the desert in an eerie white light. It will definitely make it easier to maneuver tomorrow night, but that visibility goes both ways, and if we're not careful, the pirates will see us coming a mile away.

My mind then drifts away from the difficult situation at hand to thoughts of home. I hope that Clint and little Aurora are unaware of all this and that they both think I'm stuck in a boring office in the middle of the Mediterranean reading intelligence reports. That they don't know I have been thrust alone into the wilds of the Sahara with this daunting task ahead of me.

Sadly, I know this is probably not the case. Its standard procedure to contact the family as soon as a service member dies or goes missing. I fight back tears as I imagine a uniformed officer and a chaplain walking up to my front door is dress blacks, Clint seeing them and collapsing into a heap of hopeless sadness. Aurora screaming when she realizes for the first time that she'll never see me again.

_"I will come back to them. I will fight my way home,"_ I promise myself as I wipe a salty tear away from the corner of my eye.

"Why so sullen?" I hear a voice from the darkness behind me. I turn around to see Khalid walking towards the sand dune. Behind him, the men still chant, laugh, and play their music around the massive bonfire.

"I think a better question is why you're all so happy?" I say steadying my quivering voice and looking back up at the desert night.

"Because," Khalid says taking a seat on the warm sand next to me. "We are about to go into battle tomorrow. This could be our last night on this earth and we all do not wish to meet God with sadness in our hearts. Instead, we will steady ourselves with joy and know that paradise will await us…" Once again, I'm amazed at their simple view of things. I wish I could be that sure of the true nature of existence. "You however, _Yellow-Haired Warrior_, seem to be lost in a place that you do not wish to be."

"On the contrary," I say with a reluctant smile, "I want to be there very much…"

Khalid nods understandingly.

"Tell me about your family."

"Well," I reply not knowing where to begin. "My husband was a soldier like me. We met during the war my country fought against the Europeans a few years ago."

"Even here we heard of this war," Khalid says. "Very violent, very brutal…_very sad_. He must have been a great warrior to earn the heart of a woman such as you."

"He was a warrior," I say gently bighting my lower lip as I remember the moment I first fell in love with the mechanic called Ratchet, "but it wasn't that part of his personality that attracted me to him."

"Then what was it?" Khalid asks with a grin. I pause trying to think of the right words. Finally, I decide just to say it. After all, I feel I owe it to this man to tell the truth.

"Even my husband doesn't know this…" I begin with trepidation, "but my entire life, I've been afraid. That's how my mother raised me. _Don't Trust Anyone. The world is out to destroy you if you let it._ From the moment I struck out on my own when I was seventeen, I put on this thick armor, and didn't let anybody in. So, everybody thought I was this fierce, uncaring killer without remorse or pity, but from the first night the two of us spent together, Clint saw right through that. He saw inside to the scared little girl that ran away from home before she was ready. From then on, he's known me better than I've known myself…"

"Then, he must have a power of observation, I do not possess, for I don't see a scared little girl before me. I see a brave and powerful woman who lets nothing stand in her way…"

I can't help but chuckle a little.

"That reminds me of something my mother used to tell me."

"What is that?"

"If it stands in your way, _kill it_."

"Ha!" laughs Khalid. "And I'm sure you raise your daughter the same way."

"Not at all," I say desperately. "I want her to have the childhood I never had…_a happy one_."

"Hatchet, you know, it is possible to be both strong…_and happy_."

"I pray that Aurora never has to experience the things I have, but I know that she'll be alright as long as she has her father…just like I know I'll be."

"Then this is a man I would be honored to call my brother," Khalid says proudly.

"Why?" I ask with a chuckle. "You've never met him."

"I don't have to," Khalid replies. "He performs the primary task that a good man must: he _protects_ you and all that you love. Keeping you safe is more than just using bullets and blades you know." I look down at the sand and smile.

"I guess you're right," I say before changing the subject to something a little less personal. "How about you? A great leader such as yourself, I'm amazed that you're not married." Instantly, Khalid's expression changes and he looks away. I can tell I've touched on something very painful to him.

"What happened to her?" I say before I even have the chance to stop myself.

"Her name was Asma," Khalid says as he fights back his own tears. "We were promised to each other as children, but despite that, I still loved her with all my heart, and she loved me with all of hers. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. Both here," he gently touches his face, "but also in here," he says moving his hand over his heart.

"Soon, after our wedding, the time of troubles began. The bandits started to attack and our supplies dwindled. She then found out she was carrying our child. As the son of the sheik, I could have gotten her more food, but she refused all extra help. She said that it would not be right to take from the tribe to fill our bellies. As the months progressed, she became weaker and weaker, but she still refused any extra sustenance, even the food that I set aside from my own plate…

When the birth pains finally began, she could not handle the strain on her body…._she died_, still carrying our son in her womb. God took both of them from me…" He pauses again before finally continuing. "It was her death that inspired my father to finally fight back against the militia. He fell avenging her."

Tears stream down his face now, and I feel myself crying with him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"No," he says steadying himself. "It was the will of God…Perhaps that is why I am so willing to help you, Hatchet. I was unable to protect Asma in this life, but with you, I might be able to redeem my honor for both her and my father because …I see their strength _in you_."

Without another word on the subject he stands up and turns back toward the firelight. "Now, I must return. The men will want to see their sheik celebrating the coming battle with them." He turns away, but I don't want him to leave. "We are all scared," he says before he disappears again back into the night, but I know that we will still triumph…either in this life, or the next. Get some sleep, we leave at sunrise."

Then, I am alone again. Suddenly, my separation from Clint and Aurora seems much less difficult to bear. Khalid and Asma will never be reunited again in this world, no matter the outcome of the coming battle, but I still have a say in whether or not I will see my family again. The self-pity disappears, and then my focus turns to iron. I reach for my rifle, rise to my feet, and join the celebration with the rest of the tribe.

The next morning dawns bright and clear. The warriors of the tribe begin their day with prayers again, but this time, I try to join them. I still do not understand the language, and I'm not sure who up there will hear my silent pleas for strength and victory, but somehow I feel connected to the higher power that guides everything these brave people do, and it gives me the same strength it seems to give them.

The women then emerge from the tents and give us bundles of food and leather bags filled with water for the journey. Then the younger boys of the tribe appear leading a herd of camels to us. The men load their steeds, secure their weapons, and then wrap their heads in their scarves to prepare for the journey.

A boy who looks about ten walks next to me and hands me the reigns to a camel.

"Oh no," I say waving my hand politely. "I don't need one, I'll just walk alongside them."

"It is a full day's ride through the sun and blowing dust to the enemy camp," I hear Khalid's voice say from behind me. I turn around to see him, already mounted high on the hump of his camel. He is even more striking than usual. In addition to his white robes, he has a huge curved sword slung at his side. I'm about to make a comment about how his choice of wardrobe might compromise our infiltration, but then I realize, maybe _he wants to seen._ "If you do not ride, then you will be so overcome by fatigue and thirst, you won't be much good in the fight."

"Well, I've never ridden a camel before," I say slightly embarrassed.

"It is very easy," he replies with a smile before he covers his face with his headscarf for protection from the elements. "It is just like riding a horse."

"Actually, I've never ridden one of those either," I reply even more embarrassed. Though I can't see his expression through the fabric, I'm sure it's one that's mocking me. He points to the boy with my camel and says something. The boy nods and grabs my hand.

Gently, the kid places it on the camel's neck and moves to help me to mount the animal. Awkwardly, I lift myself up into the saddle and try to steady myself as the camel gets used to my weight. Then the boy hands the reigns to Khalid who ties them to his saddle horn.

"Just follow behind me and don't make any sudden moves. They do not like that, and it's a long way down to the ground."

"You're telling me…" I say uncomfortably looking at the sand below.

Khalid then holds his rifle high in the air, shouts something to the rest of the men, and we begin our long ride through the desert. As the women of the tribe raise their covered arms into the air and began to wail loudly with fierce support, the other men in our caravan begin to shout

_"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!"_ It motivates them, and I feel it to. As I do my best to take it all in, Khalid reaches down into his saddlebag and passes something back to me. It is a large piece of white fabric, embroidered with black thread in simple geometric designs.

"Cover yourself before the sun gets too high, or else that ivory skin of yours will roast off your skull before noon." This is his desert and he knows it far better than I do. I don't offer any complaint and awkwardly manage to wrap the cloth around my head and face so that only my eyes are showing.

Finally, as we cross the edge of the tents into the endless dunes, I look back over my shoulder at the long line of ferocious warriors riding behind us. They all look forward and see me, riding a camel, with my head covered by one of their scarves. I cannot help but shout back to them at the top of my lungs

_"Allahu Akbar!"_

A few of the men raise their rifles in salute and shout back approvingly. That's when it hits me, _I am now one of them_. This may not be the army I imagined fighting with in Tripolitania, but it's the one I have, and I'm honored to be a part of it.


	18. Chapter 18

We don't stop moving for hours. The sun rises higher and higher to its zenith and the temperature climbs to what must be well over one-hundred degrees. I feel the heat radiate off the sands below me and cook me from two directions at once. The rough, earthy smell of the camels is nauseating in this heat, but slowly I find myself adjusting to it. I'm glad that Khalid had the foresight to give me this headscarf before we left or I would have probably passed out by now. It serves two purposes. First, even in the hot, searing breeze, the fabric cools my head as it soaks with sweat and then dries in an endlessly repeating cycle. Second, it helps to shield my nose from the damn stench of the camels.

Casually, I find myself looking around to see if Khalid and his men are suffering as much as I am, but of course, they're not. They've grown up in this hostile place and it's become a part of them. I'm just grateful that they decided to come with me. I doubt I would have made it five miles without their help. The sand dunes stretch out in every direction around until they meet the clear blue sky on the horizon. The vast, wide-open nothingness of this place is incredibly disorienting, but somehow, the tribesmen never seem to falter in their sense of direction.

My backside is growing numb from being in this saddle. I shift my weight slightly to one side to even out the circulation when I suddenly feel an intense burning pain in my arm.

"Ow!" I shout out loudly as Khalid looks back to me.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asks concerned.

"I don't know," I say in a daze as I grasp at my arm. It's only then I realize what touched my skin…_it was the rifle slung across my back. _After sitting in the direct sun since dawn, the metal has become hot enough to raise blisters. Carefully, I peel the weapon off my body and grab my water skin. I drizzle some liquid on the receiver to cool it down. As soon as the drops hit the metal, they actually sizzle into steam.

"I wouldn't waste that if I were you," Khalid says in a parental tone. "_You_ need to drink, your rifle does not. There is nothing until we reach an oasis a few miles short of the pirate's base. Until then, that water skin is your life."

"Well, my weapon won't do me much good if it starts to melt before we get to the fight," I say taking a sip of lukewarm water.

_"Better than nothing," _I think as the fluid runs over my cracked lips and down my dry throat. "How far have we gone anyway?"

"Almost ten miles," Khalid says with the assurance of a seasoned guide. We will reach the oasis by sundown and then travel the last leg on foot under the cover of night."

"I hope you're right about that. You weren't kidding about that sun."

"How much have you been drinking?" He asks in voice that almost makes him sound like a sergeant.

"Funny, I'm usually the one asking that question…" I say a little bemused.

"How much?" he asks again even more forcefully.

"I've got about half a skin left," I say feeling the weight of my water bag in my hand.

"Trade with me," he says grabbing his bag off his saddle and handing it back.

"No, I'm good," I say trying to sound polite. I don't want him to realize how much I'm hurting.

"That was not a request!" he says in a tone that makes even this veteran sergeant major jump a little.

"Yes, Sir," I say smiling under my headscarf. We exchange bags and I'm amazed that his is still almost full.

"The day is half gone," Khalid says hanging my skin from his saddle, "by the time the sun sets, your bag should be empty. You are not used to this place and need extra water."

"Roger that," I say taking a sip from his water skin. "When this is all over, if you're looking for a job, I've got one for you as a platoon sergeant." I laugh, but Khalid doesn't get the joke.

For all they smell, these camels really are miracle animals. For the rest of the day until the sun mercifully sets into the west, they don't require a single break. Just as the first star appears over our heads, we reach the oasis. It is a collection of perhaps half a dozen palm trees clustered around a tiny spring and hidden by a series of large dunes. If you didn't know it was here, you'd never find it. It's the perfect tactical assembly area. I look around and know we must be close to the sea. Several gulls rest in the branches of the palms and the wind has the slightest hint of humidity.

We dismount the camels. Two of the men agree to stay back and guard the animals while the remainder of us will go forward to the militia base. It will be twenty of us versus an unknown number of them. Hopefully, the element of surprise will help us carry the day.

I suggest to Khalid we rest here for a few hours to rehydrate and recover from our journey and he agrees. It will better if we wait until darkness completely falls over the desert and the pirates will begin to sleep for the night.

The rest of the men refill their water skins from the spring and then finally begin to eat from the bundles their wives prepared for them. Khalid, however, disappears behind one of the trees. I decide to leave him to his thoughts as I take my turn at the water. I bend over and begin to sip the cool liquid from the pool. Eerily, I'm reminded of the night I ran away from home almost twelve years ago. The same sense of nervousness and fear of the unknown sits in my gut like a rock, but luckily the feeling is tempered by a little more experience this time around. I pull the scarf from around my head, dunk it in the spring until it is soaking wet, and then tie it around my neck. It feels absolutely wonderful as the heat built up in my body from the day dissipates into the night air.

I'm about to catch an hour of two of sleep underneath one of the palms when I suddenly hear a familiar sound coming out of the darkness. I push forward to the edge of the oasis and find Khalid kneeling in the sand. He has drawn the scimitar from its scabbard and gently runs it over and over again against a sharpening stone he holds in his left hand.

"Isn't that something you probably should have taken care of before we left?" I say in a joking tone. He turns around, sees me, and then cracks a smile.

"Probably, but it's how I calm down before going in battle," he replies before going back to his task. I reach down and grip the hatchet in my belt.

_"I know exactly how you feel…"_

Just after midnight, the rest of the raiders and I depart on foot from the safety of the oasis. Before we left, I went over how to move tactically on foot with the tribesmen as Khalid translated for me. Now, as I look back at the group behind me, I realize that they're not quite up to Panem Infantry standards, but it's more than adequate. We may actually have a chance of pulling this thing off.

I'm in the lead and Khalid travels close behind. Just as I had feared last night in the encampment, the moonlight is almost as bright as day. I signal for everyone to stay as low to the ground as possible, but Khalid's robes almost look like a fluorescent light out here. Distracted by him, I almost crest the top of a sand dune without looking. Luckily, I turn back forward just in time to drop to the ground and freeze. Thankfully, the rest of the tribe remembers my lesson and does the same. Khalid silently approaches and then whispers just loud enough for me to understand.

"What is it?" he asks concerned.

"I hear voices on the other side," I mouth back in reply. Together, we slowly crawl just below the crest of the dune and peak over the top. At the base of the dune, four militiamen sit around a small fire, talking, laughing, and passing around a glass bottle. Their weapons lie at their sides as they get drunk.

"A pirate patrol," Khalid whispers again. "The sinful fools act like swine when they should be guarding their perimeter."

"Just because these guys are partying doesn't mean they don't have sober friends nearby…" I reply. "Is that sword just for show or do you know how to use it?" Khalid looks straight into my eyes and grins. His teeth glimmer menacingly in the moonlight.

"I'm the best in my tribe."

"Alright, we'll make this quiet. I'll take the left, and you go around to the right." He nods and then disappears towards our rear. I quickly crawl backwards a few yards and then hop to my feet. I dash through the darkness around the base of the dune and then turn in towards the enemy guards. I'm just about to draw my hatchet when I freeze again. Outlined in the dim firelight, I see the faint figure of a man stumbling forward. He's moving too slowly to have spotted me, but that doesn't mean he hasn't heard something. I flatten myself against the sand and ready myself for the ambush, but he pauses just three yards away, turns his back, and fumbles with the front of his trousers. A few seconds later, I hear the sound of urine splashing against the sand.

I see my opportunity and sneak around behind him through the darkness. While he's still completely focused on the business in his hand, I whistle a quick cat call. He looks over his shoulder just as my hatchet blade hacks into his neck. He instantly collapses to the ground.

I keep moving forward towards the light. His other three companions haven't heard anything and keep their gaze on the fire. I quickly think through my options and decide just to go for it. I break into a sprint and let my hatchet fly. It buries itself in the back of the militiaman nearest to me. He collapses face down at the edge of the fire. At first, the other two think he just passed out from the alcohol, but soon let out muffled cries as they see the hatchet head glimmering in the orange firelight. I roll forward grab the handle and then swing wide, making contact with the second fighter in the side of his head. Once I'm sure he's dead, I spin around to face the third one, but he's already on his feet, getting ready to raise his weapon. I'm about to lunge forward, when suddenly the sound of steel slicing through the air reaches my ears. The third pirate's head slowly rolls away from his neck and falls the ground, followed a second later by the rest of his body. Khalid stands behind him holding his sword aloft. He wipes the blood on the edge of his robes before returning his weapon to its scabbard.

"Not bad," I say climbing back to my feet.

_"I told you,"_ he says a little insulted as we run back to grab the rest of our fighters. Soon, we've left the firelight behind and move back into darkness among the dunes. I'm beginning to think we may be headed the wrong direction when I finally make out the sea, resting less than a mile in front of us in an endless black void. Just on the edge of the water is a collection of fifteen small mud brick buildings next to four large steel tanks surrounded by a dilapidated chain link fence. Electric lights are strung haphazardly around the compound and we can hear the sound of a generator humming through the night. On the far side of the buildings is a wooden dock where six gunboats lie at anchor.

"I'm guessing that's what we're looking for," I say to Khalid a little sarcastically.

"Yes," he says nodding to me in the dark. "That is the home of the bandits."

_ "Well then, let's see if we can go right up and knock."_


	19. Chapter 19

My plan is simple alright. Watching Khalid's men in action back in the tribal camp, I realized that the primary advantage of the pirates is their heavy weapons. In hand-to-hand combat, Khalid's men are just as good…_if not better._ The militia relies on the strength of their guns, while Khalid's men have years of practice and skill. _This fight will be won up close, so that's just where we'll go._

When I think the time is right, I signal to the rest of the men to start slowly moving forward with me through the dunes toward the pirate base. I grow a little nervous when I see a few militiamen on top of the buildings with machine guns, but quickly realize they seem to be more concerned with where they will bed down for the night rather than pulling any kind of security. About a hundred yards from the edge of the base, we pause to gather a little intelligence. My plan relies on getting our hands on a few extra tools. After a few minutes of observing, I see what I'm looking for.

Near the humming generators is a one-story mud-brick building. Two pirates are carrying the last few crates from the back of a truck inside. I've been in the military long enough to know that the only thing that can be inside those distinctive wooden boxes…_are weapons._

"So that's their little armory…" I mutter to myself under my breath. "Let's see what toys we can borrow from our new friends." I'm just about to signal for my pre-designated raid team to move up when we're distracted by the sounds of a scuffle coming from the pirate base. I duck back down behind a dune and look back out towards the dimly lit objective.

In the middle of the compound is a mud-brick building much larger than the others. It's two stories tall with a balcony that looks out toward the sea. I can vaguely make out some kind of ragged banner that hangs down from the railing of the balcony gently fluttering in the night sea breeze. Khalid crawls up next to me and we both stare in horror as two pirates kick a woman out into the sand in front of the main door of the building. She's screaming something in her native language that I, thankfully, cannot understand but I see the look of torment in Khalid's face as he hears her pleas for what surely can only be mercy. Her clothes have been ripped from her body and hang in tatters as she struggles simultaneously to support her beaten and broken frame with one arm and cover herself with the other.

A third man walks out of the front door of the building. He is dressed differently than the other militiamen I've seen. Instead of old military fatigues, he wears an olive drab uniform that looks like it could have once seemed neat, but now has lost the cleaned pressed edges that made it look professional. Gaudy gold braids hang down from epaulets on his broad shoulders and he wears a blue beret that looks like it was stolen off the body of a dead European Soldier.

The woman starts pleading with him exclusively at this point, but the blank stare he returns from his dark, mustached face belies the fact that he is not in a merciful mood. Suddenly, he reaches down to his leather belt and pulls out a pistol. The woman's screaming echoes across the sand and fills everyone with dread. Khalid immediately tenses and looks like he's ready to charge straight over the top of the sand dune, but a firm grasp from me pulls him back down.

"We have to do something!" he spits at me in a whisper. "We can't just let him murder an innocent in cold bold in front of us." What I must say sounds harsh, but tragically, it is absolutely true.

"Khalid, if we attack now, we've lost all the element of surprise. She will still die, and the pirates will have plenty of opportunity to make sure we join her. Then, they'll be no one left to defend your tribe and the pirates will continue to starve your families into oblivion. If we follow through with the plan, then we can end these scumbags once and for all and make sure another innocent like her doesn't have to die like that."

The look on Khalid's face is a mix of anger and understanding as he tensely nods in agreement. Suddenly, the sound of single gunshot echoes through the night followed only by terrible silence. Both of us peer over the top of the dune again only to be confronted by the grizzly sight of the two pirates dragging the poor woman's corpse into the darkness behind the building. The man in the uniform, who I can instantly tell must be the militia leader, just smiles before turning and heading back inside the building.

"I swear," Khalid says with a deep anger in his voice that I've never heard from him before, "by everything sacred I believe in, _this will be avenged_."

"I second that," I say gritting my teeth.

We wait a few minutes for things to calm down before I signal the pre-designated raiding team to join me at the sand dune. Khalid rallies the rest of the men.

"I'll see you inside the compound," I say to him.

"God with God, Hatchet," he says placing a supportive hand on my shoulder. All I can do is nod back to him before heading over the top followed by two other tribesmen.

I picked them both because they seemed to understand the importance of moving quietly better than the rest. Silently, we creep through the dunes until finally we reach the very edge of the pirate base. My eyes are constantly scanning, making sure that no one notices our movements as we dash in between two buildings and creep through the darkness towards our target. Through the mud brick walls, I hear the snores of sleeping militiamen as they toss and turn in their bunks.

_"Won't be sleeping for long,"_ I think to myself as we crawl along. We reach the edge of the buildings and stare out the armory.

_"Dammit."_ There's a large open area between us and the door, illuminated by the glow of the electric lights. A lone pirate on guard paces back and forth less than fifty yards away on the rooftop of another building near the headquarters. I can't help but think how easy it would be for me just to shoot him right now, but even a single gunshot would bring swift and disastrous retribution right down on our heads.

_"Looks like we're doing this the old-fashioned way."_

I watch the guard for a few moments, trying to get his rhythm. He pauses and turns his back just long enough at the end of his steps for us to move. I grab the other two tribesmen and dash out into the open. My heart pounds as I wait for the gunshots, the yelling, any sign that we have been seen, but after the three longest seconds of my life, we reach the safety of the shadows next to the armory.

I'm about to let out a sigh of relief when I see that one of my partners doesn't realize that his back is still exposed in the light. My eyes flash up to the guard and I see he is turning back around. In a flash, I grab the man, cover his mouth to block his gasp of surprise, and pull him into the darkness just in time for the guard to see nothing but shadows. I feel the tribesman breathe heavily into my hand with shock, but I just shake my head slowly back and forth until he calms down enough for me to let him go. He nods understandingly, and I signal for us to creep into the door of the armory.

The interior of the single story building is sparse, but lit brightly. One wall is lined with a long rack of assault rifles while the others are stacked with row upon row of wooden crates and metal ammunition boxes. There is only one guard on duty. He lazily sits in a chair with his back to us, fiddling with his assault rifle and staring off into space. I motion for one of the tribesmen to watch the door while signaling for the other to come with me. We creep along the sandy floor of the building until we're just inches away from our hapless quarry. It's almost too easy when I tap on him on the shoulder. He bolts around surprised, but a blow from my hatchet sends him tumbling to the floor before he can even register my face.

On the table next to him is another bottle of liquor, a pack of cheap cigarettes, and a lighter. On a personal note, the nicotine withdrawal is really starting to hit since my pouch has been empty and I can't help but pick up the cigarettes and lighter and gently ease them into my pocket.

_"I'll take these for later," _I mutter letting myself have a grin. "Alright, let's get to work." I signal to the other two tribesmen to quickly start searching through the armory. For my plan to work, I need to find something powerful enough. In a few seconds, I've grabbed three hand grenades and enough ammunition to keep my assault rifle fed for a month, but I still haven't found what I'm looking for. I know the militia has them, I saw them carrying them before. Finally, my eyes catch on a long wooden crate resting in a corner. "Help me," I say to the closest of Khalid's men. Between the two of us, we pry open the top of the crate and my search is rewarded. Inside are three long tubes, each tipped with a conical rocket-propelled grenade. _"Paydirt."_

I grab one of the launchers and hand it the tribesmen. I take another and leave the third one in its crate. After looking at this base, _I realize I only need two._ We sneak back out of the door and walk about twenty yards into the shadows. From this position, I have equally good fields of fire on the fuel tanks, generators, and the doors to the pirate barracks. Without another word, I hoist the RPG onto my shoulder, set its sights on the four fuel tanks at the far end of the compound, and place my finger on the trigger.

_"Payback's a bitch, ."_


	20. Chapter 20

I squeeze the trigger of the RPG. The rocket motor engages with a loud hiss and sends the projectile shooting across the pirate base and right into the fuel dump. As the warhead slams into the metal side of the nearest tank, it detonates, creating a shockwave that instantly ignites the other tanks, sending a blast of burning fuel that shoots massive flames three hundred meters into the air. The blasts are more than even I was expecting, but I've quickly got my bearings and grab the second RPG from my companion.

I spin around and fire another rocket into the generators. Another explosion and blast of the flame, and then the entire compound is thrust into total darkness. The only light visible is the moon and the burning fires from the wreckage of the fuel dump. It is scene straight out of hell.

By this time, screams and shouts are coming from the direction of the barracks. Crowds of pirates are streaming into night, trying to assemble for action against an enemy they can't see. I grab two hand grenades, pull the pins, and heave them with all my might into the crowd. Two explosions carrying deadly shrapnel slice through the unsuspecting militiamen and many fall to the ground. I look over to see that perhaps half a dozen half reached the armory and are trying to grab heavier weapons. I reach for my last grenade and lob it straight through the front door the building. The ammunition inside catches, and blows the entire building to rubble.

The pirates that remain in the compound begin firing wildly in every direction. It's obvious they have no idea where the attack is coming from. I unsling my rifle from my back, chamber a round, and take aim.

_"Game on."_

I squeeze my trigger and fire an entire magazine into the hapless crowd on full automatic. My two companions join in and the pirates are caught in a perfect ambush, they fall in droves. Their shouts of fear and desperation fall on deaf ears though. We all remember how these are the men responsible for so much pain and misery across this entire land. In fact, I'm not proud to say that it almost feels like this is poetic justice.

After three magazines, someone has finally begun to rally the militiamen and they start to return fire on our position. The three of us are forced to take cover, but I'm not worried, because I know what's coming next…

Suddenly, a wild screaming appears from the darkness that's so loud it almost drowns out the sound of the pirate gunfire. I look out to see Khalid appear from the shadows, his white robes growing red in the firelight, wielding his scimitar. With one swing, he literally cleaves the nearest pirate in two. From behind him, the rest of the tribesmen appear and begin hacking into the militia with swords, bayonets, and even the butts of their rifles. The whole thing quickly descends into a giant melee, and the drunken, sleepy pirates are no match for the onslaught. I pull the hatchet from my belt and rush forward to join them.

A desperate pirate locks his eyes on me. He tries to raise his rifle, but I've already rolled forward onto the ground and hack at his ankles. He collapses in a screaming heap before another one of my blows silences him forever. I look over and see another enemy take a bead on one of my two companions who are just two steps behind me. I sling my hatchet through the air just in time to knock his weapon out of the way as a burst of rounds impacts the sand next to the young tribesmen's feet. The pirate turns back towards me, but my companion charges forward and strikes at the side of the enemy's head with a quick stroke of his rifle, sending the sound of cracking skull echoing through the air. As the pirate breathes his last breaths, I kick to my feet, dash to recover my weapon from the ground, and turn back into the fight.

I keep my eyes on Khalid, as he fights like a man possessed, wielding his long blade, he deals deathblow after deathblow to the hapless defenders. I can see in his eyes the image of a man out for revenge. It is a look I have seen far too often in my twenty-eight years, but for the first time I feel it is totally justified.

After dispatching two more pirates in the way, I finally reach Khalid. Luckily, he recognizes me as a friend and doesn't try to slice me to pieces.

"Good to see you again," I say with a smile as look around for any more targets.

"You as well, _my sister_," he says with his trademark calm returning to his voice. Something in his words hits me so hard, I have to consciously remind myself I'm still in action. This is no longer just a mission. It's even more than something personal. _I'm fighting with a new family…_

In less than ten minutes, it is over. The remaining pirates have either perished our retreated to the desert where the sun will claim them in an even worse death tomorrow. I look back at Khalid, his pristine white robes now stained almost totally crimson as he surveys the damage. A few of his tribe have fallen tonight, but most still stand proudly on their feet in victory. He raises his blade over his head and shouts like a lion's roar

_ "ALLAHU ACKBAR!"_

_ "ALLAHU ACKBAR!"_ thunders back from the rest of his tribe. I relax a little, even though I can't shake feeling this all seemed a little too simple. I start to walk over to Khalid still standing triumphantly in the middle of the pirate base that once seemed impenetrable. The look of utter joy in his face makes me feel almost giddy. He knows that his people will no longer have to live in fear. That with the help of my people, the tribe's children will once more have enough to eat, and that they will grow up in a world where they no longer have to worry about things far beyond their years…that maybe they can just be the young innocents that they're supposed to be. On this bloody night, he has come much closer to fulfilling the dream that both his wife and his father died trying to reclaim. I want to tell him that his courage, leadership, and sacrifices have all been rewarded. That his risky act of faith has paid off, and that I can't possibly be more proud of what he and his tribe have accomplished. I'm about to throw my arms around him, when I see the bullets explode through his chest.


	21. Chapter 21

I let out a loud and painful shriek as I see Khalid fall to the ground. In an instant, I'm cradling him in my arms. I look up to see the Militia Leader standing in the doorway of his headquarters ten yards away with pistol outstretched. He could easily shoot me dead right here, but suddenly a wave of terror flashes across his face. I don't think I will ever know why he didn't pull the trigger on me, but perhaps it was because the look of sheer hatred on my blood-spattered face as the red firelight reflects off my wide and angry eyes makes him think that a demon straight from hell has now set her eyes on him.

He instantly retreats back inside the two-story building. I'm about to rush after him, but a painful cough from Khalid brings me back to the man I now hold in my arms. I fight back tears as I stare down at his face. A trickle of blood has started creeping from the corner of his mouth and instantly I know that the internal damage is beyond anything I can help with.

"It's gonna be alright," I say fighting back tears. "It's gonna be alright," I repeat in a soft and painful whisper.

_"Olivia,"_ he says to me in a voice totally devoid of fear or anger. "Yes, it will be." He reaches up and places his soft palm on my cheek. I can feel the blood from his hands mix with the tears. "You…." he says fighting through the pain, "You, have saved us."

"No, no I didn't do anything…" I say holding him even tighter. "You saved your people, Khalid, and they will tell this story to the children for many years to come…and I'll tell it to my child…_just like you wanted_."

He coughs again and even more blood pours from his mouth.

"I am sorry for the way I treated you earlier, Olivia. I now see that a warrior such as yourself…can be the greatest mother of all. Your strength will be passed to your children…"

"Khalid," I say now bawling uncontrollably. "Don't talk, you have to stay still." He just smiles even wider now and a wave of peace passes over his face like he sees something that I can't.

"I will pass on the lessons you have shown me to my father…._and my wife and child_. They're grow weary of waiting, and bid me to come and join them."

"No! Don't leave! The tribe needs you!" I shout at his face like a desperate child.

"Nonsense, you have taught us all that we needed to know..." Suddenly, I feel his hand grow limp and fall away from my face. He closes his eyes for the last time and one final word escapes his lips. _"Asma…"_

Then, he is gone. I slam my fist hard into the sand as the sadness inside turns to anger, and I shriek again like a banshee. A boiling wave of rage shoots through my limbs. It's a fire like I've never felt before and it brings back my strength. The tears have washed the horrible taste of Khalid's blood into my mouth and it only fuels the inferno. Before I can even realize what I'm doing, I'm on my feet and charging straight towards the door to the building.

I explode inside and see one of the two pirates who drug away the woman's body. The look of shock in his eyes reflects back what he must see…an unstoppable blood-soaked creature straight out of his nightmares. He tries futilely to raise his rifle, but I'm on him in instant. A powerful blow from my hatchet lands straight in his chest, collapsing his ribcage like it was made of twigs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see another pirate appear from the back room. I grab the rifle out of the dead man's hands and squeeze the trigger, cutting the enemy down in a hail of merciless lead. I hear commotion as a final pirate rushes down the staircase in the corner of the room. I send my hatchet sailing and it crashes straight into his skull. Before he even hits the ground, I dash forward, rip my weapon out of his head, and continue running up the stairs.

I reach the top floor, still hidden in darkness. The satanic mix of fire and moonlight continues to stream in from the open door of the balcony. I don't know why I don't instantly take cover. The fire inside still burns and feels like impenetrable armor over my entire body.

"I know you're in here," I say with a quiet and deep fury. _"There's no use in hiding."_

I hear the sound of the gunshots and the bullets impacting the wall next to me. I roll forward and back onto my feet as the Militia Leader continues to fire wildly, hoping that one round will find its target. I dodge back and forth across the room until finally I hear the tell-tale _click, click_ that lets me know he is empty.

"YOU'RE MINE NOW!" I shout as I charge straight towards the sound of the gunfire. A figure emerges from the darkness wielding what appears to be a machete. He hacks desperately away at the air, but I dodge each one of his wide strokes almost effortlessly.

I crouch down and slash my hatchet across his thigh. He lets out a yelp of pain, but I'm driven almost totally by blind anger at this point and foolishly open myself up hoping to land a deathblow. He hacks back with his machete and I manage to duck out of the way just in time to prevent being sliced in half, but not fast enough to prevent the tip of his blade from opening a two inch long gash in my left arm. I let out a wild scream of pain which causes him to press his attack.

His large frame charges forward and slams me into the wall. I manage to grasp at his hand wielding the machete with my injured arm, but his other fist closes in around my hatchet. We're locked together in a deadly stalemate. I can smell his disgusting breath quicken as he leans in close trying to see my face in the dim haze of smoke and moonlight. He knows he's fighting a female and I get the impression that this somehow excites him in a perverse way.

Suddenly, the image of the terrified young woman passes through my mind.

"Is this how close you were to her when you did those things?" I ask through my gritted teeth. "Did you feel powerful? Is it like how you feel when you make women and children starve?" A wave of confusion washes over his face and his grip on me loosens just enough for me to react. I whip my upper body forward and slam my forehead into his face with all my might. I feel his nose crush like eggshell and he recoils backward, screaming in pain.

I see stars from the impact, but shake it off and take stock of my target. The blinding pain from his broken nose has caused him to lose focus and he hacks at the empty air with his machete in senseless patterns. _That's when I see my opportunity…._

I roll forward underneath his defenses and stare up just in time to see him raise his weapon over his head for a final strike. I shoot upward and hack at his exposed wrist with my hatchet. His hand falls to the floor, still clutching the machete that clatters to the ground loudly against the exposed wood. He screams even louder and grips the bloody stump with his remaining hand. I'm immediately on my feet and kick hard right into his broken nose. He flies backward out the doors to the balcony, slamming against the railing and collapsing to his knees.

I shoot forward and instantly am on him. My left hand closes tight around his throat and the tip of my hatchet rests against the bottom of jaw. The razor sharp edge draws a trickle of blood. His eyes grow wide with fear as he realizes that he is a dead man. I slowly lean forward and lock my wild eyes directly on his. I want to be close enough so that he can smell Khalid's blood on my cheek.

"Do you understand a single word I'm saying?" I spit right into his face. The confused pleading in his expression does nothing to extinguish the inferno inside. _"Well, I don't care."_ He gasps for air as my left hand starts to crush his windpipe. "My name is Command Sergeant Major Olivia Hightower of the United Districts of Panem Defenses. I have been sent here on a mission to destroy your threat to the local population and Europe, and that's exactly what I intend to do. Since I've been here, I've been blown up, shot at, and forced to watch children starve because of your greed and lack of a sheer thread of common decency. You forced me away from my husband and daughter, murdered my men, tried to enslave me, but what really pisses me off more than anything is…_you just killed my brother."_

I raise my hatchet over my head and with two quick flicks of my wrist, his head separates from his body. As the fire inside dies down from a raging roar to a quiet ember, I turn around and head downstairs. Khalid may have had the decency to care for the enemy dead, but I apparently still do not…

The first rays of dawn are just peaking over the eastern horizon when I emerge outside. The pirate camp is now deserted except for the crowd of Khalid's men who have now gathered around his corpse. I push my way to the front and see the fallen sheik, still smiling even in death. At that point, I completely lose all control and start to weep like a baby.

Suddenly, I sense someone in front of me. It is the older man who argued with me in the Council Tent. A part of me expects for him to chastise me, telling me that even through all of this I am still just a weak woman who cannot handle death, but what he does next is shocking. He simply raises his hand and lifts my chin so that our eyes meet. With the gentleness of a father consoling his child, he wipes the bloody tears from my face and says in broken English

"Shed no tears for him….for he…_is in paradise_." He points upward to the sky with a broad smile. Though the tears only slow instead of stopping completely, I feel a smile creep across my face as well. Somehow, deep down, I know he is right. For the first time, I know that somewhere, Khalid is finally reunited with his father and Asma, and is getting the chance to hold his son for the first time…

The image of tranquil peace in my mind is short lived. One of the other tribesmen is shouting something and pointing wildly toward the docks at the far end of the pirate base. The engines of the six gunboats have roared to life and the vessels are shooting away from land towards the open Mediterranean. It seems that not all of the pirates got away into the desert.

"No!" I scream as I realize that some of the enemy has escaped. No doubt, they will simply plunder vessels at sea until they have enough resources to start a new base and continue their reign of terror. I refuse to believe that all of this could be vain. That Khalid's tribe may still suffer the agony of these bandits even after his heroic death. My mind races now. I'm just about to run into the surf and try to swim after them when two attack hovercraft come screaming in from the west. I just make out the Mockingjay Seal of Panem on their wings when their twenty-five millimeter auto-cannons open fire on the pirate gunboats. All attempts to evade the attack are futile and within a few seconds, the fierce barrage of high explosive shells have turned the fleeing pirates into smoking hulks slowly sinking towards the bottom of the harbor.

Khalid's men erupt in wild cheers of celebration and I almost collapse in relief. I watch the hovercraft, their task complete, gracefully turn to the north and head back out to sea.

_"Welcome to the party, Bixby,"_ I think as I try to think of way to signal my position to them, but unfortunately, I don't have to think long. Less than two miles out, the hovercraft turn like nimble birds of prey readying for another kill. They line up in perfect formation for a strafing run on the pirate camp, and their deadly weapons are locked, loaded and _pointed directly at us._


	22. Chapter 22

"They don't realize we're not pirates," flashes through my mind and in a second, the entire pit of my stomach fills with dread. If they fire those weapons, we'll all be dead in less than ten seconds and the only thing left for outsiders to identify will be the bloody streaks our bodies will leave in the sand once they're vaporized.

Khalid's men don't realize what's about to happen and continue to shout and cheer as I suddenly start wildly pushing my way through them and back toward the two-story building.

"They're friendlies on the ground!" I shout shouting madly at the top of my lungs. "Friendlies on the ground!" I know the pilots would never hear my frantic and desperate pleas, but I can't help it. I reach the doorway, charge inside, and up the stairs.

On my body armor, I always wear smoke grenades, flares, infrared strobe lights, at least half a dozen separate ways to signal a hovercraft from the ground. Now, I have nothing, except a single desperate attempt to show the attackers that we're not a threat. I leap past the dead body of the Militia Leader, climb up onto the railing, and start flailing my arms back and forth toward the sea.

"WAVE OFF!" I scream as loudly as I can. "WAVE OFF!"

The hovercraft are now less than a mile out and any second their cannons and rockets will blaze to life, turning this entire place into ash. I stare out at the two attack ships, flying perfectly straight and level, their courses remaining hopelessly unchanged.

" ! WAVE OFF!" I keep screaming as I still wave my arms like a psychotic person. Half a mile out now. They're in prime weapons range and still show no signs of disengaging. I hold my arms above my head, close my eyes and wait for death. I could try to hide inside the building, but these thin mud brick walls would stop the armor piercing shells about effectively as tissue paper, and besides, Khalid's men are in the open. If I'm one of their tribe now, I'll die with them. I just wish the authorities back in the UDP won't have to revise their previous announcement to Clint and Aurora and tell them that I was a victim of senseless friendly fire.

"I'm sorry Clint. Take care of Rori. And baby, just know that Mommy will always love you…" I say under my breath. Tears manage to find their way out through my clenched eyelids even though they're sealed shut. The rounds are hypersonic, and I'll be a pile of goo before I even hear the blast…but nothing comes. I finally get the courage to open my eyes just as the first of the two hovercraft shoot straight over me, low enough for me to read the registration number on the bottom of the hull.

_"Haha!"_ I actually laugh out loud for joy as the second hovercraft screams over the top of me. The wind knocks me backwards off the railing, but I catch myself on my feet and lean out from the balcony just in time to see the pair make a sharp turn through the air and circle around to get a better look. "That's right!" I shout back up at them over the deafening roar of their engines. "I'm here you beautiful bastards!" I don't think I've ever been so happy to see the Seal of Panem staring back at me in my life. They pass by low and slow and I see the face of the pilot, shielded behind the black visor of his helmet get a good look and then say something into his headset. I'm smiling so wide now he must see it because he immediately offers a sharp salute to me through the cockpit glass which I cannot help but return. Khalid's men stare up at the two flying machines as if they were some kind of miraculous angels sent from heaven…which in a way…_they are._

_"That's my tribe!"_ I shout down to them, giddy as young schoolgirl. They can't help but to keep laughing and cheering as they see my excitement build and build.

The two attack hovercraft instantly begin to circle around the entire pirate base, pulling security for what comes next.

Six troop hovercraft rapidly approach in from the west and join the attack hovercraft circling low around the pirate base. I instantly choke up as I recognize the distinctive markings on their hulls because I supervised their loading onto the transports back in District 2 myself: _"Screaming Mockingjay," "Dirty District 11,"_ _"Reaping Day…"_ they're all there and ready to fight.

"GET SOME GUNSLINGERS!" I shout up at the sky as I gaze up at them. The gunners manning the machine guns in the side hatches of the hovercraft start to wave furiously as they recognize me standing at the balcony. Then, all the training I made the soldiers suffer through pays off as the hovercraft land in a perfectly spaced circle around the compound. They kick up huge clouds of blinding brown dust, drop their ramps, and a hundred Gunslingers in full combat gear come streaming out onto the sands of Tripolitania. The hovercraft that lands nearest the docks gets my particular attention. I spot the large frame of the first soldier to hit the ground…_it's Bixby_…and somewhere in the last few days, he's found his command presence.

He directs the movements of the men perfectly, directing them into positions of overwatch and security like a true professional.

_"I guess I can take a break, Sir,"_ I think with a grin. _"Looks like you've got this."_

I slowly make my way back down the stairs and back out onto the sand. By that time, Bixby and his security detail have made their way up to the ragged and bewildered band of Khalid's men. I start laughing out loud again when I recognize the private standing next to him. It's Sparx, the soldier who I chewed out in my office for falling out of the battalion run that Bixby later accused of being "dead weight." No one can deny the kid looks like a professional now. He's perfectly decked out in his black body armor, helmet, and carrying his weapon like he's had it all his life.

Bixby's faces instantly changes as he sees my figure emerge out of the smoking flames of the compound. In fact, his face turns so white, it looks like he's seen a ghost…a blood-spattered, exhausted ghost, who has a native headscarf wrapped around her neck, dark circles under her eyes, and who's hair looks like she just escaped from a wind tunnel.

"You see, Sir," I say with a giant smile as I hold up my crimson hatchet. "I told you I used this all the time," I laugh once more as I return it to my belt. Bixby is totally speechless for a good half a minute as he attempts to process what he's seeing. It's just long enough for me to pull the dead guard's cigarettes out of my pocket, light one up, and take a deep drag. "Oh God," I say as the familiar feeling hits my veins. "That's good…"

"You did all this?" he gasps at me.

"Well, I had a little help from the locals," I say pointing at the tribesmen around me. "They're very accommodating once you get to know them."

"_But you're supposed to be dead…"_ Bixby manages to get out through his shocked expression.

"It's ok, Sir," I say walking up to him and patting him on the shoulder. "We all make mistakes." He is still speechless as I introduce him to the rest of Khalid's men, briefly describe what happened to me since the downing of the transport, and our actions here before his stunning, if not timely, arrival. When we're done, I insist we give Khalid's men a ride back to their encampment. It's not right that they be forced to march another day through the searing desert. Bixby, still barely able to string together a coherent sentence, agrees. When I finish making sure all the tribesmen are safely aboard the hovercraft and inform the pilots where to make a quick stop to pick up the camels at the oasis, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around to see my battalion commander and he's smiling wider and more sincerely than I ever thought possible for him.

"Olivia," he says not letting go of me. "You're more incredible than even the stories they tell about you." Normally, I would just sigh sarcastically and shrug off a moment like this, but I don't detect any insincerity or malice in his words. He is genuinely grateful his Command Sergeant Major has come back to him and I actually blush at the compliment.

"Thank you, Sir," I say gently removing his hand. "But it was my mission."

"No, no…it was so much more than your mission. I'm going to put you in for the Cross of Valor for this one." I just shake my head and muffle a final laugh.

"No thank you, Sir," I say shaking my head appreciatively. "I've already got one."


	23. Chapter 23

_"Ten minutes till touch down in District 2,"_ the pilot squawks over the intercom speakers. I lean forward against the straps in my seat on the transport, still enjoying the feeling of a shower and a clean uniform. All around I hear the excited chattering of my soldiers as they talk about the first thing they'll do when they get back home, but the only thing I can think of is seeing just two people again.

"How're you doing?" a voice from above me breaks me out of my contemplative trance. I look up to see Bixby, smiling kindly in my direction. It's something I'm still getting used to, but have to admit, is growing on me.

"Fine, Sir," I say leaning back in my seat. "Still a little dehydrated, but pulling through."

"I thought you might say that," he says pulling a canteen of cold water from behind his back and handing it to me.

"Thanks," I say reluctantly taking it from him. I'll never be quite ok with an officer taking care of me, but it's happened a lot in the past few years, and I'll never be able to repay them for it.

"Sit tight, almost there," he says turning back towards the cockpit. "Oh, and by the way, we've all agreed that you'll be the first one off the bird," he says pointing to the other soldiers in the troop compartment.

"But…" I try to get out before he cuts me off.

"No 'buts.' It's not up for debate, Sergeant Major."

"Roger that, Sir," I say returning his grin before he finally turns and leaves.

My mind once again goes back over the events that brought me here. Much more was going on behind the scenes after the hovercraft crash than I could have imagined. My husband was absolutely correct when he told me that night that I'd never be alone.

Ten seconds after he found the bird went down over Tripolitania, Bixby was on the phone with the Chief of the Defense Forces back in the Capitol demanding for reinforcements to go in and search for me. When the Chief told him that I was probably lost and he wouldn't waste the time or resources searching for one person…_even if it was me_…Bixby hung up the phone. His next call was to General Snow.

An hour after that, with the help of Lieutenant Colonel Amelia Goldflower, Ares had Lizzy and the kids on a train to Peeta and Katniss Mellark in District 12 and he was on a hovercraft bound straight for the Ministry of Defense.

After his arrival in the Capitol, the Chief of the Defense Forces miraculously had a sudden change of heart, and within twenty-four hours, an entire brigade was mobilized and sent to the Mediterranean.

When the reinforcements arrived, Bixby found the crash site, interviewed the locals in the refugee camp, but found out nothing about me. Dismayed, but not defeated, he had the intelligence section scour over hundreds of interviews and reports until he pin-pointed the exact location of the pirates who were responsible. The raid, he finally told me, was not actually a rescue mission as much as it was an attempt to bring the perpetrators to justice. It was serendipitous coincidence that I happened to be in the camp when the hovercraft showed up. Good thing too, or else I'd probably have to start my life over and learn a new language.

After we dropped off Khalid's men at the encampment, Bixby immediately sprang into action once more. I didn't even have to drop a single hint. With Khalid's death, control of the tribe passed to the Council of Elders until a new sheik could be selected. Bixby and I sat down with them in the Council Tent and hammered out an impromptu treaty. In exchange for their help to me, Khalid's tribe would be under the constant protection of the UDP/European Alliance. Weekly food shipments would be sent directly to their location and Bixby even gave them a radio to use to call for help in the event of another bandit attack.

At the conclusion of negotiations, Bixby was prepared to say goodbye, but I was not ready to leave the tribe just yet. There was still one more obligation I had to fulfill. As the sun set over the desert, the funeral mass once again was heard across the sands. Bixby and the rest of my men watched in awe as I joined the tribe in their beautiful prayers. Though it pained me that I could not understand the meaning of their words, I still feel like I felt their message deep down in my heart.

When the time came to lift Khalid's shrouded corpse to his final resting place, I stepped forward as one of the pallbearers and not a single person in the tribe dared to scoff at my gesture. Slowly, we marched the body of the fallen hero to his grave and placed him into the earth right next to his beloved Asma and lost child. Though I tried to fight them back, a few stray tears managed to escape my eyes at the thought of the three of /them, resting forever side by side until the ending of the world.

With the conclusion of the funeral, I thought that it was time to leave, but I surprisingly found myself summoned to the women's tent one final time. As I cautiously stepped through the flap, I saw Khalid's mother, sitting alone, but resolutely inside. She gestured for me to come closer before producing a beautifully carved wooden box. As I sat on the sand next to her, she opened the lid and pulled out something that took my breath away.

It was an intricately woven shawl of bright, vivacious colors, which stood in stark contrast to the muted tones I've grown used to seeing these people wear. It was obviously something that had been passed from generation to generation, covered in detailed embroidery and beadwork that could only have been produced by the hands of a master. As I marveled at its designs, she suddenly placed it gently in my arms.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly take such an amazing gift…" but a firm shaking of her head soon made me realize that it would be more rude not to accept it. "Thank you…" I said with a heavy heart as it hit just how much suffering this woman has been through. She lost her husband, grandson, daughter-in-law, and now son in span of just a few short years, but still has the tenacity to care so tenderly for someone who she barely knows.

Then, her eyes smiled from behind her veil as she reached back into the box and pulled out a second shawl, identical in design to the first, but half the size. She handed it to me as well, but I looked back at her confused. "What's this for?" I asked surprised at the extra gesture. Khalid's mother then held her arms outward like she was cradling a child before it finally hit me. "Yes," I said holding back grateful tears, "I do have a daughter and I'll make sure she gets this."

Then, in a gesture that will be with me until my last breath, Khalid's mother leaned forward and embraced me as her own. I began to weep once more as Khalid's memory shot back into my mind.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everything that has happened to your people, but I promise things are going to get better. I swear it." Khalid's mother then released me, leaned back, and nodded as if she could understand my every word. It was then I made an epiphany that I will pass to everyone that will listen: everyone no matter how different, are deep down the same. We experience the same joys, the same pains, and to let a fellow human being suffer out of neglect or fear is a crime that degrades us all…

The Gunslingers and I then headed back to Isla Cartina. The next day, our higher command informed us we would be immediately sent home because the arrival of so many reinforcements. I never got to see the Khalid's tribe again, but I hope they will always remember me, for I will never forget them…

The jolt of the hovercraft's skids touching down on solid earth brings me back to the present. I undo my harness straps and pull myself to my feet as Bixby appears again.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Really, Sir," I say humbly, "I don't need to be the first one off…"

_"Go,"_ he says forcefully pointing toward the back ramp. I look down the troop compartment and see the other soldiers nodding in agreement.

"Alright then," I say with a smirk as I put on my beret and grab my duffel bag. "It seems I'm overruled…"

I slowly walk down the troop compartment and stand at the ramp, every muscle in my body tenses with trepidation. Will Clint and Aurora be there? Will they be happy to see me? Will they be angry at my absence? Will they even care that I'm back?

The possibilities are still rolling through my mind as I hear the safety clamps disengage and the back ramp begins to drop. Instantly, the bright sun pours in and I'm blinded by the sight of Fort Sturm's wide-open tarmac. A hundred yards away, barriers have been set up. Behind them, are a thousand cheering family members. Most carry signs and banners emblazoned with "Welcome Home" and "We Love You." I see hundreds of Mockingjay flags waving proudly in the breeze.

I slowly stumble down the ramp of the hovercraft, searching the crowd desperately for the two faces that I long to see most of all. My feet hit concrete and I step out into the sunlight. I keep scanning the front of the crowd until finally, _there they are, _standing in the very center. Clint holds Aurora in his arms and both their faces light up as our eyes all make contact simultaneously.

Without thinking, I drop my duffle bag to the ground and sprint straight towards them. Clint pushes his way past the barriers and right out onto the tarmac. Then, in a moment of pure bliss, we all fly into each other's arms. Clint's arms hold me tight and I bury my face in Aurora's curls.

"They told us your hovercraft had been shot down and that you were missing," Clint says fighting back his own tears. "I was so scared…"

"Don't, just don't," I say squeezing him and Aurora close to my trembling body. "We're together again and that's all that matters."

Aurora reaches up her little arms and latches onto to my neck with an iron grasp.

"I love you Mommy!" she exclaims covering my face with little kisses.

"Oh my God, I love too, Baby. I love you so much!" The emotion wins out at this point and the tears are streaming down my face. At that sight, Clint can't hold on anymore either and we both stand with our daughter crying right out in the open.

Suddenly, Clint pulls back from me a little and stares over my shoulder. I turn around to see every single Gunslinger, looking at us in silent astonishment. I look back at the crowd of family members and realize that each and every pair of eyes is looking straight at us as well. It has grown so quiet you can even hear the soft breeze rushing past us.

"They're staring at us," Clint says more out of respect for my privacy rather than embarrassment. "Do you want to leave?" he asks nervously. I look back to my soldiers, and then to the crowd, and then down at Aurora's face, still nuzzled to my chest.

"Who cares?" I finally shout out. "Let them stare!" I say pulling them both back close to me. Then I hear the entire crowd begin to roar with thunderous applause, but they're not cheering for just their own soldier anymore. They're cheering for us as well. Cheering at the sight of one family, almost torn apart by tragedy, but brilliantly reunited.


	24. Chapter 24

My body tenses, my toes curl, and I let out a stifled moan at the moment of release. My legs nearly go out from under me and Clint has to hold me tight to prevent me from crashing to the white tile floor of the shower. He reaches over behind me and turns up the wonderfully hot jets of water and soon I've caught my breath.

"That…was…_incredible_," I say resting my now soaking wet hair on his firm shoulder.

"Thanks," he says back with a smirk. "The other battalion wives all volunteered to help me practice while you all were away…"

"That's not funny!" I say pulling back and playfully slapping him on his bare chest.

"I thought it was," he says grinning back down at me.

"Ok…" I admit bashfully. _"It was…"_ I rest my head back on his shoulder.

"I can't believe they're making me go the Capitol tomorrow morning. I just got home!"

_"Liv,"_ Clint says flashing me a look. "The entire country is begging to hear your story and it's better coming from your mouth than anyone else's."

"Why are you always right?" I say stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel.

Clint just shrugs as he turns off the water and steps out after me. I feel him wrap his arms around my waist and lean forward next to my ear.

"I'm only right about the important things…._things like you._" He turns me around, stares deep into me, and I just gaze back as he leans in for a kiss. He hasn't been able to keep his hands off me all day…and I admit, _I like it_.

While he towels off, I step back into the bedroom and slip into my old nightgown.

"Sorry," I shout back at him as he crosses over to the dresser and pulls out a pair of pajama pants. "I don't feel like wearing anything sexy. I just want to be totally comfortable," I say as I flop back into the wonderfully clean and crisp sheets of my own bed.

He grins as he pulls on the pajama bottoms, ties the waistband, and then leaps into bed after me.

"Anything you wear is sexy because you're in it."

"Oh man," I say chuckling, "You are on a roll!" He playfully pushes me down and hops on top of me.

"Plus, I'm about ready to go again…"

_"Me too,"_ I manage to get out before he immediately starts planting soft kisses on my neck.

Suddenly, the door flies open and we both jump apart. Clint and I are barely under the covers when I look up and see Aurora, standing in the doorway clutching Ears the Rabbit to her chest with tears streaming down her little, red face.

"What's wrong, Sweetheart?" Clint asks softly when he sees her.

"I…had a…scary dream," she says between sobs, pulling Ears closer to her. "There was a monster, and he chased us, and I dropped Ears…and the monster got him!"

"Oh, Baby, it wasn't real," says Clint. "You see? You and Ears are both safe and they're no monsters." This does little to calm Aurora down and she still stands there in the door shaking like a leaf. I throw the covers open and make a spot in the bed for her right next to me.

"Do you wanna sleep with Mommy and Daddy tonight?" I ask her softly. She slowly nods. "Alright, come on up," I say patting the mattress. She darts straight for me and climbs into the bed. I throw the covers over her and she snuggles right up to my chest. I think I hear a subtle groan from Clint and turn my head over to him. He flashes me another look, and I flash him one right back to say, _"What? You already got it once."_

The warmth of my body soon calms Aurora back down and by the time I reach over to turn out the lamp, she's already asleep. I pull her towards me and run my fingers through her hair. Almost on cue, I feel Clint's arms wrap around both his girls and soon I'm able to drift off to the best sleep I've had in ages…

When my train reaches Capitol Station at noon the next day, I barely have time to grab my garment bag before I'm whisked away to a waiting car which drives me straight to PNN headquarters near Victory Square. We park at the rear entrance and a mob of strangely dressed, multi-colored attendants practically drag me into a hallway and plop me down in a seat in a private dressing room.

"We're so honored to have you, Mrs. Hightower," a woman with two foot tall pink hair and matching three inch nails says while making notes on a clipboard.

"It's a honor to be here….I guess…and its Sergeant Major Hightower actually," I manage to get out without choking on the perfume of a giant bouquet of blue flowers that have been placed on the vanity beside me. They have a note from someone whose name I don't recognize. _"I hate this freaky place," _I say thinking about how much I loathe the strange eccentricities of the Capitol.

"Your prep team will be here in half an hour to help you with your wardrobe. Until then, just relax and enjoy the complimentary snacks and beverages."

"Oh, I brought my own clothes…" I say pointing to the garment bag. I hear a scoff from the pink-haired woman which I find incredibly rude, but she probably doesn't even notice.

"Well, our stylists will still assist you in anyway necessary. After all, _PNN Primetime Report with Cicero Cooper_ is the top rated nightly news program in the whole country! Everyone who's Everyone will be watching and we want you to look your best!"

"Right…" I mutter while imperceptibly rolling my eyes.

"I just want you to know," the woman says pulling closer to me. "It's such an honor to meet a real life war hero like you. Everyone at PNN supports their troops." Her nails rub against my arm, causing my skin to crawl, but I still manage to put on a fake smile.

"That's…very…_sweet of you_…to say that."

"Isn't it?" she says almost squeaking in her affected Capitol accent.

_"I guess some things never change."_ I think to myself while still pondering how anyone who looks so stupid could think they look stylish.

"Well, I'll leave you to rest. _Ta ta!_"

_"Ta ta!"_ I reply back accidently mimicking her accent, but she still doesn't seem to notice as she walks back out of the dressing room and closes the door behind her.

"It's too bad they don't still cut out people's tongues here," I mutter as I walk over to my bag and start to put on my dress black uniform.

It takes me a good twenty minutes just to make sure all the brass and medals are still present, polished, and pinned in their right places. I'm just hanging my Cross of Valor around my neck when, suddenly, the door flies open when two men, and another neon nightmare of a woman barge in carrying two giant boxes of makeup and a suitcase. They instantly surround me like a pack of wild dogs and I have to resist punching one of the men who reaches up and grabs the leg of my trousers.

"Pardon me!" I shout loud enough for him to take a step back, but the three of them still look at me like I'm some kind of failed science experiment.

"You _cannot_ be serious," the first man says with such a heavy lisp that I think he's about to choke on his tongue. The way his glowing flower printed shirt looks, I'm tempted to reply back with the same words, but I restrain myself just enough to say

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you have a beautiful, natural skin tone, but you have almost no make-up on your face to highlight it…you hair is lovely, but I can see the split-ends from here…and what is up with the pants and those hideous shoes? It makes you look like a twelve year old boy trying to play soldier!"

I'm starting to see red now. It's obvious this little punk has _no idea_ what I'm capable of.

"Look," I say fighting back the overwhelming urge to break at least one bone in this guy's body. "This happens to be the uniform of a soldier of the United Districts of Panem and…"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! The whole 'military thing,' we're going to play it up, but we will still make you look fabulous."

_"Look, Sergeant Major,"_ I think ordering myself to calm down. _"It's not worth getting arrested over. Just let them do their job…"_

Over the next hour, I watch in the mirror as I am transformed. Begrudgingly, I watch as a layer of make-up is applied to my eyes, lips, and face. My black trousers are replaced by a knee-length black skirt, my shoes disappear in favor of a pair of black heels, and my hairstyle is changed from my trademark simple bun with two long bangs to an intricately woven circle of blonde braids. Sadly, I have no recourse to complain, because everything is still technically within uniform regulation, but I think it makes me look far too feminine to come across as a gruff and battle-hardened Infantry Sergeant Major.

"Look, I don't mind looking a girl when I'm not uniform," I say trying to get them to compromise, "but I'm trying to impress the television audience, not _date_ them."

"Nonsense, I love it!" the second male stylist says. "It's very Katniss Everdeen circa the 74th Games. It's like…It's like…" he struggles to think of something. "What's the word I'm looking for?"

"An homage?" the first man says turning to him.

"Yes! An homage! We will take this whole country by storm tonight! I can already see the headlines in the fashion magazines tomorrow: Hatchet: _her looks can kill as easily as she can_."

_"Oh my God,"_ I mutter as they disappear out in the hallway. I turn back into the mirror and stare at my reflection. "I look like a ' joke."

"Are you kidding, Olivia? You look absolutely beautiful," says a wonderfully familiar voice from the doorway. I snap around and see him, just casually leaning there as if he'd been watching all along. His eye is twinkling and the way he holds his cane is more like a comic prop than something he needs to move around.

"Ares!" I shout as I fly towards him and give him a hug.

"You see? Was it really that hard to start calling me that?" he says returning the embrace. It's only at this moment that I realize how happy I am to not have to go through this alone. I look down at his plain grey suit.

"Are you _seriously_ going out there like that?" I say trying to mimic the accents of the stylists as best I can. "The fashionistas in the Capitol are going to harpoon you tomorrow in the tabloids." We both laugh but then he shakes his head.

"I'm not going on camera tonight, Hatch. I'm here only to support you. This is your show."

"Why not?" I say chuckling. "Bixby, told me you did more to save my ass than anyone. If the Chief of the Defense Forces had his way, I'd still be riding a camel under the Tripolitanian sun!"

Just then, General Snow has that subtle shift in his tone again that makes me incredibly nervous.

"Make sure you remember that tonight for me, ok?"

"Oh no!" I say shaking my head back at him. "You know something, General, and you're gonna tell me what it is right now!" He just smiles, leans forward, and places a kiss on my forehead just like I was his petulant little sister.

"I just know you're gonna knock 'em dead. They love a good_ girl on fire_ in this town…" He turns and heads back down the hallway. "I'll be backstage. Meet me there when you're ready," he calls over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner.

"Why is everyone comparing me to Katniss Everdeen!" I shout somewhere between laughing and complaining. "After all, you're the one with the Mockingjay pin!" No response.

"And I mean, c'mon! My mom is Johanna Mason! If we're going Hunger Games themed than I probably should be in a tree costume with my tits hanging out instead of these stupid heels, Right Sir?"

I feel a pair of eyes watching me and turn around. The woman with the pink hair and nails is back and staring.

"Well, it's time for you to go backstage and get ready, but we still have enough time before we go live that if you really want to be in a tree costume I can bring the prep team back…"

I just bury my head in my hands and sigh before I trudge after General Snow.


	25. Chapter 25

I find Ares waiting in the wings just out of view of the cameras. I walk up next to him and stare out at the stage crew making the final adjustments to the brightly colored set while the studio audience gets seated.

"You know, I lived here most of my life and I still cannot figure out what these people's obsession is with strange colors…." he chuckles. I'm still not in a very good mood. He definitely knows something is going to happen tonight. The real reason he's here is probably to make sure I don't make a scene.

"You know, Sir, I don't like surprises." He just turns towards me and smiles.

"Really? I thought you liked a little unpredictability in your life."

"Not when my face is being broadcast to millions of people." He chuckles again, this time even louder.

"You know, I finally got the courage to ask Katniss last year what she was thinking that night before her first games when Peeta announced to all of Panem that he was in love with her. Do you know what she said?"

"What?" I ask.

"Well, there was the standard shock and surprise…"

"And then?"

"And then she said she wanted _to kill him_." I actually find myself laughing at this statement.

"I guess Panem's most famous love story was a little more complicated than we were all led to believe."

"You'd be guessing right, but let me remind you, the two of them have now been married almost thirty years and have two children."

"I'm not saying it wasn't a happy ending, Sir, but what's your point?"

"My point is," General Snow says wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulder, "that sometimes the things that make us happiest in our lives are the things we never thought we wanted."

I don't have long to ponder his words, because the booming voice of an announcer echoes through the entire studio.

_"And now, Live from PNN Studios in the Capitol…It's Primetime Report with your host, Cicero Cooper!" _The audience is on its feet cheering as a tall man with jet black hair and wearing a suit covered with black and yellow swirls crosses out from the other side of the curtain and takes a seat in one of the two armchairs placed in the middle of the stage.

"Good Evening, Panem, I'm Cicero Cooper and we have a very, _very_ special guest tonight. She just returned from bravely serving our country in Tripolitania…"

I admit, I tune him out at he goes over a brief synopsis of my deeds with Khalid's tribe against the pirates. Instead, I find myself going over General Snow's words in my head over and over again.

"Here she is," Cicero says pointing in my direction, "Command Sergeant Major Olivia "Hatchet" Hightower!" The audience is cheering again and a stagehand is signaling for me to walk out.

"Just remember," Ares says whispering in my ear. _"Smile."_

"I hate smiling for people I don't know," I say back to him.

"I don't care. Do it anyway. _That's an order."_ he says giving me a playful shove.

I move out into the bright lights, my heels awkwardly clacking on the wooden floor of the stage. Just as instructed, I instantly put on a big fake stupid grin and start waving to the adoring crowd. I get the impression that the General is getting me ready for the most dangerous game of all…_politics_, and the thought disgusts me.

Before I know it, Cicero is on his feet and holds out his hand. I shake it as he gestures for me to take a seat in the chair next to his. I sit down, and immediately place my knees together and cross my ankles…_very proper and very lady-like._

Cicero takes his seat again and immediately starts talking to me.

"Welcome to the program, Olivia. May I call you, Olivia?" I continue my huge, fake grin and stare right back him.

"No, you may not," I say gently shaking my head. The entire audience bursts into laughter and Cicero looks out to them.

"Well then!" he says in an over-exaggerated, sarcastic tone.

_"Obviously, this guy grew up watching Caesar Flickerman interviews his entire life." I_ think as I turn back to look at Ares offstage. He's just looking right back at me, and holding back laughter himself.

"Ok," Cicero continues. "Than what I should I call you?"

"Sergeant Major, would be a good start," I reply.

"Alright then, Sergeant Major," he says as the audience grows quiet again. "I don't think there wasn't single man, woman, or child in all of Panem that wasn't brought to tears by your heartfelt reunion with your family when you arrived back in the Districts yesterday morning."

I look behind me and see the footage of Clint, Aurora, and me on the tarmac at Fort Sturm broadcast on a massive screen for the entire country to see. Inside, I'm furious that such a private moment is now so blatantly public, but realize that these are the sort of things that Ares is trying to get me prepared for. Sadly, he is now the mentor, and I'm his tribute.

"Yes," I say reaching down to find appropriate words. "It was amazing to finally hold them again." The entire audience sighs simultaneously and I'm sure the viewers at home are joining them.

"Your husband is, of course, Staff Sergeant Retired, Clint "Ratchet" Hightower, another member of General Ares Snow's famous Mockingjay team during the TEC War. In fact, General Snow…" Cicero looks offstage like he's trying to get Ares to join us, but to his credit, General Snow flashes him a look of stone and slowly shakes his head from side to side. "…sends his warmest and deepest regards to you. I spoke to him earlier today," Cicero says executing a flawless transition.

_ "I love you, Sir,"_ crosses my thoughts as I reply, "Well, Sir, if you're watching out there. I send my regards right back to you." The audience starts cheering again. The corner of my gaze catches Ares and its obvious he approves.

"Sergeant Major," Cicero says immediately quieting the audience. "How did your experiences in Tripolitania compare with the TEC war?"

_Damn, a serious question. Somehow I thought I'd be able to avoid those with these shallow people tonight._

"Well," I say trying to choose my words even more carefully. "In my experience, war is always horrific, but what I saw in Tripolitania struck me to my core. As soon as I hit the ground there, I was humbled by the incredible hardships that the people there go through every day.

I hope their stories will remind us what we fought for in the Revolution, and that it will remind us that just because we are happy, safe, and comfortable, that others can still be suffering. If we want to be able to get up in the morning and look at ourselves in the mirror, we have to share the blessings we've been given with others…"

_Total Silence._ At first, I think my little speech was totally inappropriate and over the top. Just as I start to fumble for some words to fix everything, I realize that the quiet I'm hearing is not consternation, and the people watching are genuinely moved. Finally, after what seems like ages, Cicero expertly breaks the tension.

"Well, Sergeant Major, your actions and experiences definitely reached someone who's here tonight. In fact, he wants to speak to you in person."

_"Uh oh,"_ The way he says that phrase makes the pit of my stomach drop. Suddenly, the UDP anthem starts blasting through the loudspeakers in the studio and I jump to my feet reflexively. I see a man walk out on stage and immediately recognize him. _"Oh my God…"_

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Cicero proudly yells. "The President of the United Districts of Panem, Fischer Reefs!"

The President briefly acknowledges Cicero before crossing straight to me. I immediately offer a sharp salute, which he returns with the limp wrist of someone who's never been in the military. We shake hands as two stagehands suddenly appear with another chair that they place in the middle between me and Cicero. Then, Reefs all motions for us to sit and the interview continues.

Cicero and the President exchange pleasantries with the tone of an experienced politician and a veteran journalist. It gives me the opportunity to view my commander-in-chief for the first time close up. He came to the Capitol many years ago from District 4 and, as a result, made the mistake of adopting their fashion sense as his own. His long hair and beard have been dyed a light shade of green and arranged in a series of tiny braids. Tonight, he also wears a matching green suit. It makes him very difficult to take seriously and I can't help but think he looks like a cross between a leprechaun and a Poseidon.

"Well, Sergeant Major Hightower," the President says finally turning his attention to me. "The United Districts of Panem are once again in your debt."

"No, Sir," I say as my artificial grin returns, "I was just doing my job." I glance back at Ares and grit my teeth. The look on his face lets me know immediately that he knew full well this was coming.

_"This must be the same feeling that Katniss Everdeen had when Peeta Mellark confessed his eternal and undying love for her on national television,"_ I think.

"No," President Reefs says gesturing broadly and shaking his head. "Your actions were pure heroism, far above and beyond the call of the duty. Obviously, what happened to you shows that we should have had a much firmer response to the Tripolitanian Piracy Threat. Therefore, I'm announcing tonight," he says turning back toward the cameras. "That I'm dispatching an entire amphibious task force to the Mediterranean led by the battleship, UDPS Polaris, to end any threat to those innocent tribes people and our European allies once and for all!" The entire audience is on their feet and clapping their hands as I think.

_"Well, if you had done that in the first place…"_

"Also," President Reefs says turning back to me as things quiet down. "You've shown once again how indispensable you are to the Defense Forces. Your courage and leadership are a shining example not only to those who proudly wear the uniform, but to us all.

I'm not sure you're aware of this, but the position of Sergeant Major of the Defense Forces is currently vacant, and it is my incredible honor, to offer it to you, in front of the entire nation, here tonight!"

The crowd is cheering again, but I don't hear them. They're totally drowned out by the horrible screaming inside my head.

_"No! I don't want this! I don't want this…"_ Then, my gaze meets General Snow's once more. His face is like iron, and his eye burns right to my heart. He's sending me a message, one that I haven't yet been willing to hear.

It suddenly hits me went he meant by _"Make sure you remember that tonight for me, ok?"_ If he hadn't forced the Chief of the Defense Forces to act, then the right decision wouldn't have been made, and many more soldiers and civilians would have died. Sending only one battalion to Tripolitania was down- right asinine, but nobody with any real authority was willing to say anything. My men and women were put in harm's way, and if it weren't for the sheer dumb luck of me falling out of the sky right on top of them, Khalid's tribe could have continued to suffer from lack of support. I knew all of this before we even left Fort Sturm, but I didn't have the rank to do anything about it…_then._

There has to be someone responsible at the top. Someone who can look a General in the face and say, "You're wrong, Sir," and what Ares and Clint were trying to tell me that night at dinner was that person…_is me. _I'll never be SMDF because it's what I want. I _need_ to be SMDF because it's what's required of me.

I snap back to the present and realize that the entire studio is silently staring at me, waiting for my response. The President seems confused that I haven't answered and Cicero looks like a hungry dog, anxious to be the first reporter in Panem to break the story. I take one final deep breath, turn to look Reefs directly in the face, and say one word

"Yes."

Cicero jumps to his feet and begins clapping and the rest of the audience follows suit. A relieved President Reefs suddenly grabs me and pulls me to my feet. With a hand on each shoulder, he positions me in the center of the stage, rips the Command Sergeant Major rank off my epaulets, and immediately replaces them with a rank that only one person in the whole of the Defense Forces possesses. Instead of star in the center of the Sergeant Major's Stripes, there is a Mockingjay, clutching an arrow in its beak.

_"This is for you, my brother,"_ I say as I think of Khalid's brave sacrifice, once again.

Then, my heart breaks for a second as I realize that I will shortly be leaving my soldiers back in District 2 behind and moving to this strange and deluded city that I cannot stand. However, as I look over to General Snow, grinning from ear to ear as he knows that I've finally seen the light, I smile as I remember that there will now be someone at the top who can fight for them more than they ever dreamed of.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Cicero shouts to the cameras as the audience now breaks into full-fledged pandemonium. "It is my pleasure to present to you for the first time, Olivia S. Hightower, Sergeant Major of the Defense Forces of the United Districts of Panem!" I find myself smiling again, but it is not the fake, forced grin anymore. It is real, genuine happiness.


	26. Chapter 26

The rest of the evening devolves into a blur. One reception lasts just long enough for someone to shake my hand, buy me a drink, and talk about what my future plans are. Then handlers I've never met grab my arm and then whisk me away to another event. It must be well after midnight when I finally find myself alone in the rooftop garden of some hotel or government ministry. To be honest, the alcohol-induced haze is so thick, I have no idea which one.

I stumble around, taking in the artificially manicured sights of genetically enhanced shrubs and flowers before finally fixating on a bubbling fountain that spews water in intricate, pre-programmed patterns. Suddenly, I'm infuriated. Clean water in this world, where people far too easily forget hardship and sorrow, is merely an expensive decoration, whereas to many in this world, just getting a mouthful to drink is a struggle. I remember how horrible it was, riding on the back of that camel as Khalid shepherded me through the dunes. Then, I realize that I'm drunk…_and become hopelessly ashamed. _

I stumble over to the edge of the roof and look out at the bright Capitol skyline. I can't help but remember the night of the celebration in the tribal camp. Khalid's men didn't need booze or other artificial trappings to be happy about being alive. All they required were some homemade instruments, a fire, the night-sky, and _each other_. Here, in this sea of halogen and neon, I can't even see the stars.

"Khalid, my brother!" I shout leaning my head back towards the empty blackness above. "Do you see me, now? I'm just a sinful swine like the rest of them!" I stumble a little and have to lean on the railing for support. "But you…you made me better, and I'll always be grateful for it…"

"Hatch, do me a favor and step away from the edge of the roof. You seem a little shaky." I turn around and see General Snow standing there with that damned grin on his face.

"Sir! I say turning around to see him. "Hell of night isn't it?" I start to stumble towards him, but halfway there, I bend my ankle the wrong way and snap one of my heels. "Sh.t!" I scream as I bend over and pull those damn shoes off. "Well, can't use these anymore," I say as I casually toss them over the edge of the building.

"Alright, I think it's time for the new Sergeant Major of the Defense Forces to go to bed," he says.

"You can't tell me what to do!" I say faking being angry. "I'm the Sergeant Major of the Defense Forces!" I keep stumbling towards him, but trip and fall right into his waiting arms.

"Oh, have you gotten heavier lately?" he says with a chuckle.

"I'm still a hundred and twenty-five pounds of pure badass, you old crippled bastard." He laughs out loud.

"There's the old Hatchet I love so much." I look up to his face, smile, and then slap him as hard as I can.

"Ow!" he shouts as he almost drops me. "What the hell was that for?" I reach my hand up and point right into his chest.

"I told you, Sir, I don't like surprises," I manage to say before my arm goes limp and I pass out.

When I wake up, I'm lying in a bed. Thankfully, most of the sunlight from the window is blocked out by a sea of blonde hair in my face. My head is absolutely pounding. I slowly reach up and part my bangs. I'm in a hotel room and Ares is sitting in a chair with big smile, watching me fumble around.

"Well, good morning, Sunshine!"

"What the hell?" I say looking around. "I never had a hotel room…"

"I know," he says leaning forward in his chair towards me. "It's my room actually, but don't worry, the fold out bed in the couch was very comfortable."

I look over to see my dress black uniform, perfectly ironed, and hanging in the closet. A wave of dread and shame passes over me as I throw open the covers and I see I'm dressed in only a t-shirt and shorts.

"Sir…" I say very carefully. "Who changed me out of my uniform last night?"

"Don't worry," he says getting up and walking over to the coffee pot. "I made a very conscious effort not to look…which is surprisingly easy when you only have one eye."

"Dammit, Sir!" I shout throwing the covers over my head to hide my bright red face.

"Don't you dare start pouting on me, Sergeant Major," he shouts at me under the covers. "I don't take that from my kids, and I'm sure as hell not gonna take that from you. Plus, I know you well enough to know you'd be more upset if you got puke all over your dress blacks."

"Fine," I say like a small child as I throw the covers back down. "Cut me some slack, I'm hung over."

"I know," he says walking over and handing me a mug of coffee. I eagerly start downing the strong black liquid.

"Wait, what time is it?" I say anxiously searching the room for a clock.

"It's a little after 1300."

"Dammit!" I shout throwing the covers back. "I missed my train!"

"No, you didn't," Ares says gently pushing me back down on the bed. "I already made the call and had you rescheduled for the 2000 express to District 2 tonight. Also, I called Ratchet so he's tracking. He made me promise to give you a stern lecture on drinking too much, but I'll save that one for later."

"Thanks," I say letting out a sigh and collapsing back down into the pillows.

"You're really not used to people taking care of you, are you?"

"My entire childhood was spent trying to keep my mother away from water, not mentioning your last name, and preventing her from getting near sharp objects when she had too much to drink. Then, when I couldn't take it anymore, I ran off and joined the military. What do you think?"

"I think that you're extended family has given you the new ability to let your defenses down from time to time…if you give them the chance." A few moments of silence pass.

"Do you think I'm ready for this, Sir?" I ask with genuine concern.

"I don't know of anyone else more ready," he says with a reassuring tone that calms me down. A few more moments of silence. "So, this Khalid must have made a big impression on you. You couldn't stop talking about him last night." My face flushes again. "Does Ratch know about this?" Ares says mockingly. I flash him a very annoyed look.

"I NEVER had those kinds of feelings for Khalid. You know I hate beards."

"Just making sure," General Snow says taking a seat back in his chair. "So, what else was it?" I stop to consider my words carefully.

"What I admired about him was a quality that I've always wanted for myself…"

"And that is?"

"_Nobility._ Even was he was angry, he was always in control. He knew what he believed, what he wanted, and never was willing to compromise what was right."

"Funny," Ares says reaching for his own mug. "I could have sworn that you were just describing yourself there."

"C'mon, Sir," I say rolling my eyes before taking another sip of coffee.

"Why do you think I demanded that you be made SMDF?"

"Probably because you know enough about me to blackmail me for life…"

"I'm not gonna lie," he says chuckling again. "It's definitely a perk, but that's not the main reason. Speaking of that…be honest with me. How drunk were you when you got that tattoo I noticed last night? I mean, that spot, _really? _Who besides your husband is ever gonna see it, anyway?" I immediately raise my mug like I'm gonna throw it at his head, but he raises his arms defensively, and says, "Kidding. Just kidding. Look, Liv, there are three women in this world that I would trust with my life. The first is my wife, the second is Katniss Mellark…_and the third is you. _Do you know what these three heroines have in common?"

"We're all hopelessly linked to the Hunger Games?"

"BESIDES THAT!" he shouts.

"You have a fetish for long hair?"

"Hadn't thought about that one…" he says jokingly. "I'll have Lizzy psychoanalyze me later, but that's not it either."

"Well, then I give up."

"Because, all three of you have gone to the Gates of Hell, looked the Devil right in the face, and said _'What else you got?'_ That means I'd follow you anywhere, and I know the soldiers of Panem will too."

I immediately put my mug down on the table, cross over to his chair, and wrap my arms around him.

"Lord help me, I love you, Sir."

"I know you do. It's kinda hard not to." We both laugh.

"I hope you've paid your phone bill, Sir, because if I'm gonna do this, I'll be calling you all the time for advice."

"Well, then you're out of luck," he says with his wonderful smile. "I'm retired."

"Sir!" I say pulling back from him.

"Of course, you can call on me any time you want. Plus, I'll make sure you see my face plenty as well."

"You better bring Octavian with you. I'm getting sick of explaining to Aurora why she can't see him all the time."

"You ever get the feeling that we're gonna end up being related one day?"

"Oh God, _I hope not…_"


	27. Chapter 27

It's a quiet Saturday morning when I choose to clean out my office on Fort Sturm. I want to avoid, as much as possible, the long and awkward goodbyes. After the last box is safely tucked away, I stand there, looking at the bare walls and contemplating my new life in the Capitol.

"I thought you'd sneak in here today and try to slip out unnoticed." I turn around and see Bixby standing in the doorway.

"Caught me, Sir," I say throwing up my arms like a bank robber.

"Try not to forget us little folk when you're up there in the ivory tower, Sergeant Major. If you need a saber bearer for your change of responsibility ceremony with the Chief next week, consider throwing my name in."

"Oh Sir," I say shaking my head. "You're still a commissioned officer and I'm just a dumb grunt who got lucky."

"Well, you're now a dumb grunt who makes a hell of a lot more money than I do." We both laugh before he holds out his hand. "It's been a pleasure, Sergeant Major," says Bixby giving me a firm shake. "Thank you for teaching me how to be a leader."

"Oh Sir, I think you always knew. You just needed someone to kick you in the ass a little."

"Probably," he says slowly nodding his head.

"Well, I think that's it," I say turning towards the door. "I'll be seeing you around."

"Just where the hell do you think you're going? There's a lot more people who want to say goodbye to you." My stomach drops. This is precisely what I wanted to avoid.

"Sir, really…"

"You don't have a choice," he says grabbing my arm and forcing me towards the conference room. He opens the door and inside is every company commander and first sergeant clapping around a giant cake with the words "Good Luck Sergeant Major" in red frosting with a giant plastic axe plunged into the center.

We spend the next half hour, laughing, joking, and reminiscing as each one of them tells a personal story about their experiences with me. The emotion is building and no matter how wonderful this feels, I know I have to get out of here.

"Seriously, gentlemen, this is incredible, but I have to get going." Suddenly, they all get worried looks on their faces. First Sergeant Galbiaz runs over to the door, opens it a crack, and peeks out into the hallway. I try to look out, but Bixby's hand pulls me back.

"Uh uh, _no peeking_."

"Sir, what's going on?" First Sergeant Galbiaz closes the door and flashes a thumbs up.

"They're ready," he says.

"Ok," Bixby says relieved. "You can leave now." I run up to the door, open it, and gasp. There, lining both sides of the hallway all the way out the front doors and beyond, is the entire Gunslinger Battalion, all dressed in their shiny dress blacks and standing at parade rest.

I turn around and see the commanders, first sergeants, and Bixby all smiling right back at me.

"Why the hell did you make them do this on a Saturday when they just got back from overseas!" I shout at them angrily, but they all just start laughing. I look over to Bixby totally confused.

"We didn't have to make them do anything. They _wanted_ to do this."

"Why?" I say still dumbstruck with disbelief.

"Because, they wanted to show the Sergeant Major of the Defense Forces just how proud they were to serve under Command Sergeant Major Olivia Hightower…"

I quickly cover my face to hide my emotion, take a deep breath to steady myself, and then throw my shoulders back.

"Well," I say loud enough for everyone outside in the hallway to hear. "Command Sergeant Major Hightower wanted to say just how proud she was to serve with all of them too ."

"Godspeed, Hatchet," Bixby says shaking my hand once more before I turn into the hallway, and exit the Gunslingers' Headquarters for the last time…

The next evening, I stand on the back porch of our house and watch Aurora play in the grass with Ears the Rabbit. All the boxes have been packed and eagerly await the movers tomorrow morning. As I lean over the railing of the deck, I hold my hatchet in my hands and closely examine ever knick and scratch in its weathered handle. I just couldn't make myself tape it up in a box like it was any other simple belonging. No, it will travel with us as one of the family.

Clint is still cleaning up our take out dinner in the kitchen, but he keeps the television on. We kept it out specifically to watch an event that was supposed to happen tonight. I listen as the special report from PNN begins.

_"Soon after the Task Force arrived in the Gulf of Sidra in the pre-dawn hours, the massive guns of the UDPS Polaris went to work…" _The screen cuts to the images of the Polaris firing its giant cannons into the Mediterranean night. I close my eyes and remember what it was like to experience a broadside fired from her deck. _"Within three hours, the ancient walled city of Syrte and the town of Qasr Abu Hadi, who until less than three days ago were considered to be impenetrable militia strongholds, now both lie in smoking ruins. _

_ The pirates here in Tripolitania are now defeated, scattered, and on the run. The local population could not be happier." _The image now shows a group of men, dancing on top of the burned out hulk of a militia armored personnel carrier, chanting and waving the UDP Mockingjay flag above their heads.

"_Food aid and medical supplies which used to arrive only by the single bag, now arrive by the ton." _The screen shows legions of UDP soldiers, sailors, and marines distributing food, bottles of water, and first aid kits to thousands of smiling and waving Tripolitanians while pilots land more transports in the background. Medics and doctors check out child after child, ensuring they receive immunizations and other care.

"_Here in the Binwaldi Refugee Center, one of the hardest hit by the militia forces, and the site of the crash of Sergeant Major of the Defense Forces Hightower's hovercraft, there is real hope for the first time in many years."_ I turn around to see a line of smiling kids, none older than ten years, all holding a bag of grain emblazoned with the Mockingjay and waving. Then, there's an image of a UDP soldier handing the kids a rubber ball. _"A gift from one of the soldiers here quickly turns into the first game that many of these children have ever played in their lives outside without fear of being shot or abducted."_ The kids all laugh and smile as they kick the ball back and forth between themselves and a few of the UDP soldiers who have decided to join in the fun.

I feel tears streaming down my face as I look over my shoulder at the screen.

"_Allahu Ackbar,"_ I whisper just loud enough for only me to hear.

"_Though the crisis here is far from over, there is now undeniable progress. It may take many months or even years to restore normalcy to Tripolitania, but in the words of President Reefs in a press conference earlier today, 'It is a long time coming.' Reporting from the deck of the UDPS Polaris off the coast of Tripolitania, this is Grigori Tesla for PNN." _

I turn back to watching Aurora play in the fading light as Clint clicks off the television and steps outside to join me.

"Don't worry about the television, I'll pack it up before we go to bed…" he looks over and finally notices that I'm crying. "What's wrong?" he asks worried.

"Nothing," I say as a huge smile creeps onto my face. "Nothing at all," I instinctively throw my arms around him, but quickly pull back as he jumps.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Watch it with that thing," he says pointing at the hatchet I forgot I had in my hands. "I've already shaved once today and don't need to shave again."

"Sorry, sorry…" I say looking down a little embarrassed. Immediately, he lifts up my chin and starts to wipe away my tears.

"So, do you have any special plans for that?" he asks pointing down at my right hand.

"Well," I say holding my hatchet back up to the light. "I figured at my first staff meeting at the Ministry of Defense…"

"Yeah…"

"That I'd walk into Central Briefing, see the Chief and all the other big-wigs sitting around the wooden conference table…"

"Uh huh…"

"And then I would sink this as hard as I can into the wood of the table and shout, _'There's a new sheriff in town!_" We both burst out laughing as Clint grabs me, pulls me close, and then plants a kiss on the side of my head.

"And you're just crazy enough to do it, too."

"That I am…" I say looking back down at the ground. He waits for a few seconds.

"How does it feel to suddenly be responsible for every single soldier, sailor, airman, and marine over there doing great things?" I look back into his eyes and come up with an honest response.

"Exhilarating and terrifying at the same time."

"And that is why you'll be the best Sergeant Major in the history of the Defense Forces…"

"I love you," I say as he leans in for another kiss.

"I know."

Clint turns around and heads back into the house. I look to Aurora again still playing with Ears the Rabbit, but her game has taken a scary turn.

"Look! It's the monster again! Run away!" She bounces Ears fast over the grass and then makes a burrow out of the folds of her skirt for him to hide in. Khalid's words suddenly jump back into my consciousness.

"_Olivia. I now see that a warrior such as yourself…can be the greatest mother of all. Your strength will be passed to your children…"_ I look down at my weapon one final time and then walk out to her.

She suddenly looks up and freezes as she sees the last bits of daylight glinting off the steel edge of the axe-head.

"Is Ears scared of Monsters?" I ask with a straight face. Aurora just nods, not sure of what to make of this. "Well, I am too," I say as my face transforms into a smile. "But if you learn how to use this," I say showing the hatchet to her, _"it will keep both of you safe."_ My daughter's expression lights up like I've just shown her the open door to a brand new world.

I kneel down behind her as she climbs to her feet and leans into my chest.

"Alright," I say gently picking up Ears and placing him behind us. "I'm gonna put Ears back here so he can be safe and watch us, ok?"

"Ok," she says. Then, I place the hickory handle in her tiny right hand.

"You have to promise me, that you'll be very careful when you hold this. Never point it at anything you don't want to hurt."

"Ok," she says a little more nervous now.

"Don't worry, you're doing great. Now, it's important to remember when you throw this, not just to use your arm. All the power comes from here," I say tickling her little tummy. She giggles, but holds on to the hatchet firmly.

"Ok!"

"Now, hold it up and point the edge right to where you want to hit." I turn her to face the wall of the shed in the corner of the yard. "That's it, perfect!" All I'm doing right now is steadying her aim. All the weight of the weapon is in her little arm. "Ok, when you're ready, take a deep breath, relax, _and throw…_"

Aurora doesn't even hesitate. Like a duck to water, she pulls back and lets the weapon fly. It spins, straight and true, and plants itself firmly right in the wall of the shed…

**THE END**


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